Like Pebbles On Water

All of our actions are like pebbles on water, leaving ripples whose effects are broad and unknown. May the ripples of our acts cause others to make their own positive, far reaching ripples. May we live in peace and generosity knowing this is so.

A Soft Flutter of Newly Found Wings

In this country of mine, from which I have been absent for 22 years, I was lost..

But I am found in my soul of knowing who I am. I am a peaceful heart, loving being, joyful woman,
one who wishes to help others discover who they are in their own souls of knowing.

They are not a big house, or a job that provides money but not joy; they are not their cars or their children or their children's achievements.

They are a wealth of talent, creativity and blessings that they are no longer aware of.
They must go away and listen to their souls.
Turn off the commands, turn down the expectations, flee from the noise....

towards the silence of nature where their soul will unfurl itself in its long lost element,
where their gifts, creativity and blessings will unwind the tightly woven silk strings of their oppressing cocoon..

in order to fly towards sunlight, freedom and discovery like a butterfly.
They will flit from one beautiful flower to another for the sheer pleasure of the uniqueness of who they are there, at that moment,

until they land confidently on their destined perch, gently settling with a soft flutter of their newly found wings.

Burkas in America

My flight from London arrived yesterday into Washington Dulles Airport at the same time as a flight from Riahd Saudi Arabia. I was at first surprised by, and then curious about the many women in burkas, it is the first time I have seen them in person. As we made our way to the US Citizens line in the immigration area I noticed a family of four. A young father two children around 5 and 6 and an obviously young petite woman covered from head to foot, except her eyes, in black. All the other burkas and their groups were in the non-US citizen lines. So I proceeded to watch the advancement of this family in the immigration process to see if the immigration officer would make her lift the veil in order to compare her face to her passport picture.
What surprise, indignation and anger I felt when HE DID NOT!
What? Was there a James Bond like eye tester machine she looked into to confirm her identity? There wasn't one in my line... How did he know she was who her passport said, or was that photo of a veil and two eyes too?
We as airline passengers are foreced into ridiculous and degrading security measures at every airport world wide because of Islam sponsored terrorism and yet the women are allowed to enter into the US (and this one as a US citizen!) without showing her face because it's against Islam!! What about our security? PLEASE! We need to set rules for ALL based on OUR customs and beliefs and security needs.
I am not saying they should have to remove them during their stay here, (although I'd like a debate on that) but at least to enter the country!
Since I have read the book Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, I have become much more supportive of our nation putting our foot down, and walking less on eggshells about applying our cultural, constitutional and American values. If anyone doesn't like it, then they are welcome to return to the countries they have immigrated from, if those traditions are so great stay where they are accepted.

Dad's on the Plaza

I was sitting in the central Plaza de la Merced in the heart of historical Malaga around noon yesterday for about 30 minutes , and in that time I watched five different men spending time with their children in the plaza. They ranged from 25 - 30 years old I would guess and the children ranged from a few months in a tummy pack to toddlers of 2 or 3 with tricycles or a ball. They were not toting the kids with them from point A to point B in strollers, rather they were taking them for a morning stroll and playtime in the plaza.
There were no women with kids in the plaza at this time, and only a couple of the fathers (I assume they were the fathers) seemed to be communicating with each other. Mostly they were just letting their child walk and toddle around, or observe the goings on of the plaza from a perch on their daddy's tummy. All seemed quite content to be doing so.
I was surprised, curious and impressed, and convinced that we are on the right path: Children need to be raised by their parents, not in a nursery school, but it doesn't always have to be the mother that stays home to do so, it depends on each couple's abilities, desires and circumstances. Dad's on the plaza enjoying their kids and vice versa is a lovely option.

Returning to the old or fundamental change?

I enjoy spending weekend mornings listening to all the current affairs debate and discussion shows on the international news channels we get: CNN Int’l (a far better cry from the American CNN), BBC Int’l., Al Jazeera, TV5 - France’s English version, Spain’s CNN or 24 hours news station. Subjects range from Int’l. politics, to green initiatives in many cultures, healthcare, education, social justice subjects or the economy. Recently there have been panels made up of financial experts of every kind talking about this “economic crisis”. This morning I listened to another one on BBC Int’l. focusing on whether we’ve hit the bottom and are now coming out of it. Every time I hear these debates it strikes me that there is always a tone of “returning”, “recuperating”, “getting back to stability”, perhaps with a few more regulations, but there is no discussion of a FUNDAMENTAL change in what drives the economy – personal consumption.

The economy has been driven by the developed world’s consumption of disposable goods for decades; it is a policy direction that was voiced after WWll (see the History of Stuff for a quick overview of the policy and system http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gLBE5QAYXp8). But now that so many of us have greatly reduced our consumption – of luxury items, an abundance of trendy fashion, bigger houses, all the furniture and decorative paraphernalia that goes with them, new cars every three years, and a lot of other non-essential “stuff”, do we the consumers really want to go back to the previous levels of consumption, and will we be capable of it, both financially and morally?

I perceive a collective sigh of relief at now having a legitimate reason to slow down the consumption that goes against so many of our grains – against what we learned from and admired in our grandmothers, against the false and short lived joy we got from buying things that we or someone else thought we had to have, against the time we spend shopping – taking it away from friends, family, ourselves or even projects that help others. I think we are ready to move towards other things that fulfill us more and that perhaps we “need” more as well.

By buying less we feel better: we stay within our budget, our environmental footprint is reduced, we have more time with our family and friends, we do things we haven’t had time for, perhaps we take a course and learn new things, all things that fill our soul not our home or closet – that are already overflowing. But this continues to have a negative effect on the employment numbers on a global level, we buy less, there are less revenues, companies cut jobs, those employees consume less so others loose their jobs, now not only in manufacturing and sales outlets, but in the periphery industries like packaging, advertising, graphic design, support services, etc.. It is a downward spiral that hasn’t seen its bottom yet. So now many unemployed have hard time just keeping up with what they really "need".

So in the debates when they talk about consumer trends, the economy, the financial sector, they do so in a mutually exclusive manner from the debates on sustainability, environment, education, healthcare, food supply, water availability, all issues that our global future depends on. Instead they continue to talk about when are we going to be back to where we were, rather than how to we create a new economic order based not on people going back to the consumption model but rather on people going into things that improve so many of the areas that have been ignored or damaged by these decades of consumer based economy.

Maybe this is why Obama is focusing on many of these issues, because the private sector has been too busy with earning, earning, consuming, consuming and not enough on these low profit, non-tangibles that benefit everyone. So now as the government looks to healthcare, the environment and improved education for all levels of the population, you would think a discussion of a FUNDAMENTAL change in what drives the economy would be included on these Int’l. programs and at these big G20 summits, but sadly they are not.

That is the discussion I want to hear, I want to be a part of. How can we all make a living that supports our needs – not our over the top whims – and whose results will help others achieve the same ability, not only in the USA but around the world? How do we go forward economically to a new order that benefits most rather than back to the same old one that only worked for some? When will BBC or CNN or FOX or CNBC have those discussions?

Indulgent Sunday

What a beautiful indulgent Sunday! It is cooler and crisper than it has been in weeks, the oppressive humidity dissipated to who knows where. The light morning lends a sharpness to my recently coiffed impatients and geraniums, the breeze brings wafts of jasmine with it. It is 10oC cooler outside than in, a flip flop over the past few days, and I must be out and enjoy it. How fortunate that I have started a new/old book, Garlic and Sapphires, lent to me this past week by a friend who knows me well.
Recently I have been lent books by friends who have said, ‘I thought you’d enjoy this’ and I realized how well they knew me. Those are the books I have most enjoyed reading this summer. In addition to Sapphires and Garlic by there’s also been Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, and Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen. All different one from the other, but all stories that have pulled me in and appealed to different facets of who I am. Thank goodness for friends that think of me when they read!
So I made a pot of coffee, grabbed my book, retrieved my glasses and took to my reading lounger on the porch, saying to myself ‘OK Amy, you get an hour, until it gets too hot, and then you must get back to finishing the report on your project they’ll be expecting next week.’ Well, after an hour and the first cup of coffee, I forced myself to break from the adventures of Ruth Reichl, the New York Times restaurant critic who entertains with her beguiling tales of disguises and delectables in the Manhattan restaurant scene. A pang of hunger finally hit me, after no supper last night and all these mouth watering food descriptions. I wondered how it had taken so long, actually. ‘OK Amy,’ I said to myself, ‘make yourself a Sunday breakfast, enjoy the next chapter and a bit more of the breeze as accompaniments and then hit the computer.’
Scrambled eggs, yesterday’s “rustic loaf” toasted with apricot jam, and fruit salad with a splash of amaretto to compliment the odd mix of everything fresh I had on hand: pineapple, peach, melon, apple, pear and grapes off our vine – an odd but refreshing combination, perfect for a peaceful Sunday morning. While finishing the last of the 2nd cup of coffee, I started another chapter.
This woman and her antics, and mostly her beautiful writing, just sucked me in. I didn’t want to put her down. I wanted to be her, to be able to eat 4, 5 or 6 times at the best restaurants not worrying about the cost. I wanted to know food and have the culinary experience and ability to decipher even the most obscure ingredients: squid ink, chocolate in a burgundy sauce, something sweet turning out to be pineapple juice in a Japanese soup. I wanted to be able to disguise myself into someone unrecognizable and then take on a whole new persona to discover parts if me I didn’t even know (or was afraid to know) existed. I haven’t fantasized about being a character in a novel for decades. I am charmed.
Third cup of coffee (only a half – I never have more than two) and I pass the halfway mark of the book. The humidity is still low, the breeze coming around the corner from the patio to my spot on the porch is still fresh and cool, the bees humming in the jasmine are a comforting background noise, so much better than the racket of the lotus’, whose buzzing has been like an non-stop chain saw this past week.
So now I’m on apple juice and sharing my Sunday bliss for a later posting on my blog, and I argue to myself ‘Well Amy, if the report has waited all July to get finished, another Sunday won;t make that much of a difference.’
An evening glass of wine and now I’ve finished the book. What a beautiful indulgent Sunday.

Black or White

I looked at the photos from the Memorial to Michael Jackson held at the Apollo theater in Harlem this week and I couldn't help but observe the 99% black crowd. I found it interesting that they would "worship" a black man who tried to become white. Of course the posters and t-shirts being bought and shown off were images of his Jackson 5 days, Bad and Off the Wall, when he still looked black. I also observed that many who surrounded him, like his doctor and nutritionist, were black. So I ask, if he appealed to his race and supoprted those of his race professionaly, why did he try and look white?

When was the last time you went out to play?

It was hot on Sunday, I spent a good part of the day doing laundry and cleaning the house. So at about 6pm I put on the bikini and dove into the pool without even testing the water.

I proceeded to "play" in the pool like I did as a kid. I am grateful that at my middle age I can still do front and back summersaults in the water, often two in one breath. I can still reach a balance and hold a handstand for more than 10 seconds,

I can still do several backhandsprings (in the water) in a row, getting dizzy and feeling my body weight differently, just like I used to do when I was 12 or 13. (OK so I was a gymnast in my teens) What fun I had playing in the pool! Diving in, swimming lengths in one breath, kicking as hard as I could to make big waves. My 16 year old daughter and her boyfriend could only smile at me in surprised wonder and then take some pictures. I felt myself smiling the whole time too. And what good exercise it was! When was the last time you went out to play?
Last one in is a rotten egg!

Back to the Barter

With changes abounding in our economics, personal, national and global, we should consider how we can bring back the old fashioned barter system into our lives. Yesterday I gave a friend Reiki and she gave me a massage. Neither can afford to pay for those services, that seem like luxuries, but that are actually essential for our over all well-being and for keeping stress at bay. It was a win-win arrangement. We have set another date in two weeks.

Beat the crisis - go back to the barter system.. what can you offer? what can you receive?

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

I am grateful for a couple of hours of laughter and songs with my 16 yr old and one of her best friends. She took the microphone and small sound system I have outside to practice her songs for the talent show next month. She's a good singer and performer and has participated in the local edition of the X-Factor and past talent shows, and of course as a mother, I LOVE watching and listening to her. So I dropped all my "must dos" to take advantage of the opportunity! She sang some past numbers and "hammed up" Somewhere over the Rainbow (one of her dad's favorites). In her exageration of the emotion of it, she really made it 'hers' and powerful. Then she got her friend into duets and sillyness and we laughed heartily. Wonderful way to spend my afternoon.

Happy Mother's Day to All you Mothers!
Am grateful that I got my relaxed day of paella and beer with husband and girls at the beachside restaurant down the hill from our house, walk on the beach, siesta and a couple hours of reading to finish As I Lay Dying (william Faulkner) for Tuesday's book club I lead.

Now to read "Bodas de Sangre" Blood Wedding by Garcia Lorca to help my daughter with it for her class assignmnet.

One of my New Year's "resolutions" (why do I hate that word? or whole concept for that matter, yet still fall prey to it? Maybe for another blog entry I'll go there) was to keep a "gratitude journal". I didn't find a journal, calendar, or other writing vehicle that I liked for it (read procrastination or hesitation?) so when I finally broke down and opened a Facebook page - for socialogical research I told myself - I decided my regular commentary would be on something I was grateful for. As much for my own good as a possible inspiration to others to remember all the positive things instead of the negative things in their lives.

So here are a few of my recent ones - and since it has been become difficult for me to write longer entries on this blog space, I will include them here as well in the future.

I'm grateful for happy childhood and teen memories, triggered by songs on the "classic hits" stations. The more I know, the more I realize how fortunate I was to have been loved the way I was by my parents.

I'm grateful for the family gathering to celebrate Spanish Mother's Day. Today I cooked and entertained - maybe I'll get paella at the beach next week on US Mother's Day!

I'm grateful for the unconditional love of our 4 legged friends: Jessie the blonde lab, Nico the tabby cat, Lily the black and white cat. Comforting on a low day...joyful always!

I'm grateful for the fact that our teenage girls ask me to fix vegetables and "healthy food" especially after circumstances have had them missing the daily home cooked meal. All that work of insisting they eat some "green" every day pays off!

Happy Easter!

As described in my posts below, Holy Week celebrations here in Spain focus on the Passion, the suffering, the crucifiction and so little on the JOY of Christ's resurection and life. Easter Sunday is almost a let down after all the rituals they perform in their processions all Holy Week long.

So today I am focusing on the Joy of Resurection and Love of Jesus, to inspire me to continue in my desire to treat others as I wish to be treated out of love and generosity, not envy, mistrust or selfishness.

I wish you the same inspirations and blessings in God's love on this Easter weekend.

Personal Reflections on my Semana Santa

Eyes full of suffering fix on mine, guilt gags at the back of my throat, confusion quivers under my skin. Am I some how to blame? But for what? The beat of the drum changes, the trumpet’s wail intensifies, the paso continues its 45º turn and Christ’s eyes lock into someone else’s bewildered soul.
The Nazarenos follow in their white coned hats and black robes, their paschal candles illuminate the night. After all these years in Spain their covered faces are still sinister and anonymous to me like the Ku Klux Klan. The antique silver staff is tapped
three times on the pavement, the music ceases and the procession comes to a temporary rest. Spectators return to conversations, many weave in and out of the scene to get to a better spot, children try to cajole candle drippings from the silent Nazarenos to grow their wax ball like a snowball. Mistrust of these hidden penitents doesn’t exist for them.
I shift from leg to leg, rub my sore back, crane my neck to see if the Virgin is in sight yet. I think about Christ’s imploring eyes and wonder why I’m here. The trumpet thankfully interrupts, the drum beats again, brum brum, brum bum bum. A distant bell rings and the Nazarenos angle their candles towards each other forming a medieval-like arch over the street, they resume their silent shuffle. A slight hint of incense tickles my nose, the steady clanking of the swaying palio, (the canopy suspended over the statue) becomes clearer, flickering flames and the mourning Virgin finally appear in the distance above the white peaks. The second band, accompanying the Virgin, now marks the beat that the procession follows, sometimes slow and sorrowful, other times swift and exultant, but always steady and familiar. The costaleros (the men who carry the throne throughout the streets) sway the paso, gently rock it, inch it along or march it forward according to the music. The more frequently and elaborately they do this, the more the crowd applauds them. It is in hopes of seeing this spectacle that I wait so long for the Virgin to pass this corner I have staked as mine.
She is dressed in burgundy velvet, her black cloak, also velvet, is intricately embroidered in gold all the way to the end of it’s 4 meter train. The palio above her is embroidered to match. Her gilded halo shimmers in the night glow of candles and street lamps. The beautifully sculpted silver base overflows with white flowers: lilies, roses, carnations, freesias, gladiolas. She rests in front of us, I can hear the costaleros sigh in relief. A spontaneous saetero pays her homage, singing the traditional flamenco type song of pain and lament. At its end another admirer cheers Viva la Virgen, the crowd responds with Viva! They repeat this three times and the crowd breaks out in wild applause. The music begins again, the costaleros take their position and repay this homage with their beautiful display of maneuvers. As they progress down the street to the beat of the drum, the crowd’s applause lingers.
We have seen the entire procession, over sixty minutes standing still in the middle of a crowd, my body aches and I need air. I once again wonder why I do this, and why it means so much to me. My husband prods me on to the plaza to sit and have a drink. We watch the locals greet each other with kisses, and warm salutations and can’t help but notice the once-overs the women give each other in their show of new Spring fashions.
I ponder the contrast of the solemnity of Christ’s suffering paraded around town with this display of economic well-being, the full bars and restaurants, the festive atmosphere parading on the street corners.
Semana Santa in Andalucia, it simply magnifies what I have already concluded about the Catholic Church in Spain; it has become an institution of cultural rituals instead of spiritual support and moral guidance. What I find harder to conclude is what it has become for me.

Celebrating Holy Week in Andalucia

History, culture and a different form of religious devotion take on the principal role in the Holy Week celebrations in Spain, and most elaborately in Andalucía. Multitudes fill the streets to pay homage to their favorite images of the Virgin Mary or Jesus Christ, and to feel that certain spiritual energy that religious images paraded throughout their city or village neighborhoods often generate. Different “brotherhoods” take pride in the history, sometimes centuries old, of their particular scene of Christ’s Passion that their “throne” represents, and in the sorrow and purity that their “Virgin Maria’s” face portrays.
The emergence of this Holy Week processional tradition dates as far back

as the 12th and 13th centuries, appearing first in Italy and soon after in Spain. They began as a public showing of devotion to the crucified Christ, and penance for one's sins. These less ostentatious processions made up initially of men flogging themselves and small groups carrying rudimentary wooden crosses, quickly acquired great importance in those dark times. The penitents believed that they gained merit in the eyes of God so that He would not send the plague or other prevalent evils of the period on their families as punishment for their sins. Today they believe they are fulfilling their promise to participate in this annual ritual in exchange for prayers answered or to be answered. With the arrival of the Baroque period and greater affluence, the social importance and opulence of these processions augmented, developing into an event similar to what takes place today.
The current traditional garb, full of symbolism, was established during this period of the 17th century. The tunic, cinched at the waist with a rope, imitates Christ's vestments during his ascent to Calgary. The antifaz, or mask, covers the penitent's face and upper torso in shame for his sins. The capirote, or the cone-like hood holds the mask in place, and according to one source, represents drawing nearer to God, like the church steeples of the same shape. The many colors of vestments seen in the processions throughout Andalucia are symbolic of the related religious orders and other origins of the Brotherhoods. One can easily speculate as to the reason behind the American's Ku Klux Klan's adoption of these vestments for their own.

Today’s processions include the principal throne which depicts a scene from Christ’s Passion through artistically sculpted human like figures placed on a carpet of hundreds of flowers which cover the intricately carved base of polished or gilded wood or silver. They are accompanied at the end of the procession by a throne of the mourning Virgin Mary. The “virgin’s” vary in size and elegance, but they all don a manto or cloak usually made of velvet and embroidered in gold and silver to the end of it’s majestic length, which can vary from two to six meters. The thrones take up to 250 Hombres de Trono, men who carry them on their shoulders, to parade them throughout the city for 4 to 8 hours from sunset until the wee hours of the morning.

The procession is completed by its contingent of Nazarenos or Penitentes (Nazareans or Penitents) accompanying the thrones on their annual pilgrimage among the faithful. Anywhere from 200 to 750 of the up to 5000 Brothers of each brotherhood (please do not call them members) pay their annual dues and event fee for the right to don a velvet tunic in Brotherhood's colors that range from black and/or white to green, burgundy, blue or purple the liturgical color of mourning. They usually are composed of a 50/50 mix of men and women covered from head to toe in this Ku Klux Klan looking garb, forming a somewhat disconcerting army. And each throne is accompanied by it’s own musical bands, altar boys wafting incense along the route, brotherhood officials bearing their identifying banners, and a group of faithful followers sometimes barefoot, sometimes blindfolded, no doubt fulfilling one of their promises in exchange for answered prayers. It can take over an hour for the entire contingent to pass by.

These processions inspire abundant spontaneous applause, a clamoring of piropos, (old-fashioned prose-style compliments) and heart-felt saetas (Flamenco style songs, performed solo, as reverence to the Christ and Virgin images) from their passionate multitude of followers lining the streets throughout its several hour route. Malaga boasts 38 Brotherhoods, Seville - 42, and they exist from the other large cities to the tiniest pueblos all over Andalucía just to exemplify the cultural and religious importance of the Holy Week celebrations that Spain immerses itself in year after year.

Happy Birthday

Today is my mother's birthday, she would have been 68.
Happy Birthday Mom. I wonder what you would be doing now, be retired? Travelling? Of course you'd be travelling, it was your lifeblood. Still married to DP? Still in Va.? Would we be together today? So many questions on the big What if... What if you hadn't died at 60?
Well, we can't change any of it, but I need to wish you happy birthday, and imagine giving you a hug. Know what happened to me today? I still wear your long pink and white cardigan and I hung it on a hanger on the laundry line to dry today. As I ran my hand down it to see if it was dry I imagined you in it, and gave it a hug, and flung the empty sleeves around my shoulders and tried to imagine you hugging me back. It didn't really work, you weren't really there. No, you are in my heart, in my thoughts, in my soul...today and always. Happy Birthday Mom, I love you.

Obama on Leno

Barak Obama’s appearance on last night’s Jay leno show was splashed all over the Spanish news stations this morning. Initially I thought it was a cool thing, a president making himself available on a popular level. He’s our age, we can relate to him, he – hopefully – can relate to us. Up until a couple of years ago he lived a life similar to many of ours, with concerns for improving community life, for the education and well being of his daughters, with interest in sports, keeping fit, music, new restaurants, he came and went as he pleased.
Now he is responsible for navigating our country through tumultuous times on a global level, and an unprecedented economic crisis nationally, and he is a well known, highly protected figure world wide.
When I heard the news repeated this afternoon on CNN Int’l. I suddenly questioned his appearance on Leno. Presidents have always been above “popular” shows – and in some cases above news programs and interviews as well, they have their prestige, eliteness, reputation, aura to protect… or in some cases to create.
So I asked myself if it is good or bad that President Obama appeared on the Jay leno show. My personal jury is still out on the question. What do you think?

Masks

She places the mask over her face.

Not to hide but to transform.

To flirt and laugh and tease and enchant.

To pass unnoticed, to observe, spy, gather gossip.

To pretend to be another - an absent friend, to gain revenge.





The mask covers my face

and another facet is revealed.

Is it my bosom and hips or

is it my hidden heart or harlot?

Does the mask transform or liberate?

Is liberation a transformation?

After the Storm

From Weekend Wordsmith: Ice

He’s coated with ice after our storm; stiff and cold. What did I do to deserve this? Say no once too often? Say yes once too often? To who, to what? To living my life. But I didn’t want or expect this. He won’t speak to me, he won’t touch me, he won’t kiss me, he barely looks at me, he’s rigid and frozen. I’ll have to shine my warmth on him, melt his ice of indifference slowly, bit by bit, until he’s that strong, yet flexible branch that reaches out for me and holds me when I alight; that offers me rest, comfort and support. And my springtime rays will remind him how he also sways freely, blossoms and grows when I am not perched on him. And he will recall how lovely we are together, when he grows and I fly.

New Look - New Entries

Yes, I have been absent for awhile, two months since my last entry. Let's see if new colors lead to new inspirations, new thoughts, new musings. The newness of Spring, oh no - the nuisence of Spring too. It always brings alergies (to these beautiful but hateful Mimosa trees), physical tiredness, the agitation of March winds.

Our winter has been unusually cold and wet. Those lovely crisp sunny days have been few and far between and my spirit misses them and the motivation they bring to be outside, to walk, to be warmed and energized by the sun, to create.

Thank goodness I live here, I will hold hope that the weekend will bring back the sun, and my herb treatments will hold the allergy symptoms at bay.

Happy New Year (a bit late)

May the dawning of a New Year that presents economic changes and uncertainties
present you with the beauty of a sunrise, the hope of a new day, the warmth of a
summer evening, the peace of a walk in the woods
and gratitude for all the abundant blessings that surround us.

May your riches in 2009 be new insights, personal growth and prosperity of the soul.

Feliz Año Nuevo – Happy New Year

Much Love, Amy