Watching hummingbirds and rabbits in our backyard.

Having a dream where my cat Betsy is hanging out with me. She passed away in 1998 when she was at least 18 years old and, even though it’s been so long, I still miss her – as I do all of the animals who’ve shared my life – so very much. It’s always good when one of them visits me in a dream.

Listening to music from the 50s, 60s, 70s, and 80s.

Painting and doodling.

Lots of time reading on the front porch.

Going for walks in the freshness of early morning.

Moments of feeling peaceful. I don’t have those very often, and I treasure them when they come.

These things have nourished me and brought me joy.

What joy connections have you found this week? What has nourished your soul?

Take it moment by moment.

Play helps. Creativity helps. And consciously taking a few breaths, making sure your exhale is nice and slow, also helps.

And then…repeat as needed.

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It can bring back memories. It can shift your mood. It can bring joy.

Music is nourishment for the soul.

I’m going to share again something that I originally wrote and posted over a decade ago, in November 2015. Even after all these years, it still conveys how I feel and what I want to say.

Here it is…

the power of music and memory…

Late Saturday night, feeling distracted and unsettled, I picked up the remote and started clicking through tv channels.

I was stopped by Austin City Limits on PBS, James Taylor singing and jamming with his band.

My heart immediately lightened as I listened to the music.

~~~~~

You’ve got a friend.

It’s the early 70s and I’m riding in the backseat on the long drive across the state to drop my brother and his friends at a church retreat before my parents and I spend a few days exploring Jekyll Island. I’m too young to join the teens at camp – our five-year age difference puts my brother in high school while I’m only in elementary school.

I want my brother and his friends to think I’m cool and interesting, but I’m shy and tongue-tied. As usual, I’m the invisible little sister. The quiet one. The weird one.

I listen to the radio as the road unfolds in front of us for hours.

Music is one of my best friends.

~~~~~

It’s our song, she tells us as we sit around the table at Pizza Hut. One of our songs, I mean. He said it reminds him of me, and I said it reminds me of him. And it does, It really describes how we feel. We make each other smile, you know?

She’s talking about James Taylor’s Your Smiling Face. We’re in high school, a group of girlfriends out for pizza and a movie. The rest of us nod knowingly. We’ve seen our friend and her new guy, the two of them smiling and laughing together, their blond heads close.

I love the time spent with friends but the high school years are difficult for me, for many reasons, and I’m not-so-secretly looking forward to the next phase.

~~~~~

As I watch James Taylor on Austin City Limits, Carly Simon comes to my mind…

It’s 1987 and I’m in grad school, immersed in writing a paper that’s due the next day. I study and work best with music blasting and my thick hair piled on top of my head, which means the radio is blaring in the 1-bedroom off-campus apartment I share with my black cat. I move back and forth between the typewriter on the old wooden desk I refinished several years earlier when I was a freshman in college, and the papers and index cards spread all over the floor.

Coming around again.

Carly Simon’s latest song is playing and my body sways to the music as I sort through notes for the paper I’m writing. I moved out on my own when I was 20, living in a tiny apartment in my hometown, finishing college and working various jobs. But grad school is my first time living in another state, away from family, moving there alone with my sweet kitty.

I have a blond-haired guy of my own now, we’ve been together for a few years, and things are rocky with us at the moment. But although my romantic life is shaky, my social life in general is full and fabulous to an extent like never before.

Do I realize that I’ll always think of my grad school time – even decades later – as one of the best times of my life?

~~~~~

I love this movie, I say to my husband as we snuggle on our couch watching Sleepless in Seattle on video.  It’s the mid-90s, we’ve been married for several years by now, and we recently left apartment living to purchase a house. I didn’t marry my blond-haired guy from earlier years; my husband’s hair is dark-almost-black, one of the few physical indications of his Creek ancestry.

Carly Simon sings In the Wee Small Hours while Meg Ryan, as Annie, gets out of bed during the night and goes downstairs, her thoughts on Tom Hanks’ character, Sam.

I nestle into the cushions even more, cozy and content in my own home, with my own love, watching the movie.

~~~~~

Listening to James Taylor also makes me think of Carole King…

The songs on the Tapestry album are embedded in my life’s personal soundtrack. They are interwoven with my years, part of the literal tapestry of my life.  I played my LP so much it was scratchy; I played the cassette so often it was worn.

I think of those songs, memories of decades flashing through my mind, while I watch James Taylor sing on the screen.

I feel his music lift my spirits even more. And not only that, the music grounds me. It brings me more fully to center, more completely into my body.

Even as the memories pass through, I can feel myself in the present and enjoying the moment.

Enjoying the music.

~~~~~

By the end of the show, my mood was in a much different place than when I first picked up the tv remote.

Music can do that.

Music is powerful.

And so are memories.

The original post of the power of music and memory… can be found here.

I hate to feel that way. And I feel guilty for not being more positive. But life has been hard for many years, and it’s exhausting.

Life being hard is the reason I have to intentionally and deliberately look for joy connections. Seeking little moments of joy didn’t come about because I was happy all the time and seeing joy in everything, it came about due to the necessity of finding ways to keep myself going.

I started the practice years ago, and it continues to this day. Because I need it.

Some of my recent joy connections include…

The very-welcome visitors we have to our little backyard. The rabbits and hummingbirds and lightning bugs and butterflies and red birds (and other birds).

Kitchen radio music with so many songs from the 70s and 80s.

Reading and breathing the fresh air and general porch sittin’ time.

Going for walks with my husband.

Pulling out an old canvas to add new layers. And making time for my personal at-home summer art retreat.

Roaming around YouTube and letting it randomly play old music videos, including part of a 1973 Eagles concert.

Talks with friends.

Bursts of unexpected laughter while watching TV.

These are all joy connections, moments of connecting to joy. Often little things, and often brief, but these things can make such a difference in the course of my day.

What joy connections have you found lately? Look for them. Notice them.

It really can help when life feels exhausting.

So I decided to do it again.

Since starting on June 1, I’ve been spending more time than usual painting and doodling and art journaling. There’s nothing structured. No set schedule. Just doing my best to make more time for creative play.

Sometimes I doodle.

I’ve been drawing some mandalas and using colored markers to color them (which is sooo relaxing and calming).

I’ve returned to some old canvases to make some changes.

Even something as simple as painting watercolor swatches counts as part of my art retreat.

The main thing is to have fun. It’s relaxing for me, it helps reduce my levels of stress and anxiety, and it keeps me connected to my creativity.

And creativity is a joy connection for me.

The months since last summer’s personal at-home art retreat have been difficult ones. My husband has had a stroke, which has brought us changes and challenges. He’s had surgery to get a pacemaker. There have been numerous doctor visits and tests and procedures.

And my days have held a lot of stress, anxiety, and fear of the future.

Creativity has been helping me. Writing, painting, sketching, doodling. All done with no pressure. All done just for the enjoyment of it – just for the doing of it.

That’s why it was an easy decision for me to have another personal at-home summer art retreat this year. It’s something I’m doing for my own self care and soul nourishment.

I hope you have something that brightens your days and lightens your load. It doesn’t have to be a commitment for the whole summer. It doesn’t have to be an at-home art retreat. It doesn’t have to be anything with timelines or guidelines or pressure.

It just needs to be something that connects you to joy and nourishes your soul.

Something that helps you get through your days.

I have to look for them. Intentionally and deliberately, keeping my eyes open for them and being aware of them when they appear. I have to sort of train myself to notice when they show up – especially since those moments, those (what I call) joy connections, can show up unexpectedly.

So often, these joy connections come in small ways, in the little things.

Noticing nature while out on a walk.

Certain songs on the radio.

A moment of contented calm with a good book.

A hummingbird at the feeder.

A cherished memory suddenly coming to mind.

A friend’s laugh.

Playing with paint.

A gentle breeze against your skin.

A text that makes you smile.

So many little things can bring a connection to joy.

Keep your eye out for them. Notice them when they happen.

And grab hold of those moments as much as you can.

It’s the times of taking a walk – whether by myself, or with my husband, or with a friend and her dog. Enjoying the view, the fresh air, the moving of the body, the taking a deep breath and feeling more ease.

It’s the times spent in front of an easel or a journal, playing with paint and being in the moment. Not thinking or worrying, just moving the brush and the paint.

It’s the times enjoying the spring blooms. Seeing the beauty of nature. Appreciating the colors.

It’s the times of unexpected delights, like a new bloom on a potted plant that had seemed almost beyond hope until my husband did some sort of green-thumb renewal to bring it back to life.

There are other little things too, filling my days this spring in between my husband’s doctor visits and medical tests. Lots and lots of porch-sittin’ time, enjoying so many absolutely gorgeous days with feel-good temps we’ve had these past weeks. Slowly reading and savoring a good novel. Watching comfort TV shows while cozy in bed. Phone calls and voxes and texts with friends and family. Kitchen-dancing to 70s and 80s music coming from our favorite real-life radio station.

Little things. But big helpers.

What little things come into your days to help you get through? Look for those joy connections. Do those things, even if they seem little or small, that help you.

Sometimes the little things can make all the difference.

Standing in the kitchen on this chilly February morning, I have a rare moment of feeling peaceful, cozy, calm. A rare moment of feeling optimistic about the day ahead and life in general.

I listen to the music as I tend to the task in front of me. For the past few years, the way I make cornbread is by cooking it in a skillet on the stovetop, and I flip the rounds the way I do pancakes.

When they’re done, I choose one, top it with melted butter, and enjoy my piece of cornbread with a hot cup of coffee.

I don’t know what challenges the day will bring or what is ahead. I don’t know if my husband will feel good, if I’ll handle things well, if anxiety and fear will take over.

For now, though, I’m not focused on any of that. I’m able to be in the present moment, this moment of calm.

And I’m grateful.

I must admit to having mixed feelings about the new year.

On one hand, I’m glad to see 2025 come to a close. It held a lot of anxiety for me, I wasn’t nearly as productive as I wanted to be, and the last month a half brought unwanted and scary changes to life because of my husband’s recent health challenges.

On the other hand, I’m not exactly looking forward to 2026 because I don’t have much optimism that it will be a better year. Actually, I’m afraid it will be even worse.

And this is where I stopped back in January, and now I’m here in February to finish the post. When I wrote the opening paragraphs, we had been dealing since mid-November with my husband’s heart tests and his stroke and the changes to our lives. The past few weeks have brought more challenges, including a pacemaker for my husband and seemingly ever-increasing anxiety for me.

Since mid-November, it’s been an intense time. Overwhelm, fear, anxiety, stress, grief, changes in routine, doctor visits, tests, procedures, adaptations, the busy-ness of countless phone calls and forms for doctor/health/medical/insurance stuff.

I’ve been doing the stress-reducing things that usually help. Prayer and spending time with Jesus, breathing techniques, brain retraining and neural rewiring exercises, meditation, music, talks with friends, reading cozy fiction, tapping, painting, watching comfort TV, and more.

I haven’t done all of these as consistently as I could have (even my usual-daily painting got skipped at times) because, to be honest, sometimes simply existing and getting through the day took all my energy when the fear and anxiety consumed all my energy. And even though I have taken a few walks and had some porch-sittin’ time, the weather definitely limited how often I ventured out in the cold.

And as for writing? I’ve barely done any. I worked on fiction exactly twice this past month, and today is the first day I’ve tried to write here on the blog. I simply haven’t been able to get beyond the anxiety and fear and overwhelm enough to focus my mind to put words on paper or screen. Writing means being in my head in a way painting does not – and I think that’s at least one reason I can paint (usually) even when I’m highly anxious, but it’s so hard for me to write when in that state.

When I first started writing this post in early January, I had intended to set a new writing goal for myself. A simple goal, one that felt easy and doable even with all of the difficult and scary life-stuff happening in our home since mid-November.

Just write for one minute every day.

That’s it. That was the goal I planned to set for my writing as the new year started. One minute, but daily. I thought it would help me get back into some sort of consistent groove without feeling overwhelming.

But I wasn’t able to do even one minute a day these past weeks.

So I’m not going to give myself that goal after all. I’m not going to give myself any writing goal right now except for this one:

I’m going to stay connected to my identity as a writer.

What that looks like will be different on different days. Some days I’ll write, even if it’s only for one minute or one sentence. Some days I’ll read something from a writing-related book to get some inspiration and remind me of my writing life. Some days I might simply look at this caricature of myself from ChatGPT.

It’s important to me to stay connected with my writing. But I’m not sure how much I can actually write during this time, and I’m not going to force myself. When I can get over the hump of getting started even when I’m feeling scared and anxious, writing is wonderfully nourishing for me. Writing helps me. Writing connects me to my core self.

So I’m going to do my best to deal with the stress and anxiety and overwhelm enough to write at least somewhat regularly, even for brief bits. But if I can’t, I’m not going to beat myself up about it.

There are more tests, more doctor visits, more of who-knows-what ahead in my husband’s health journey. Our life is different now than it was before mid-November, and more changes will come. All of this is hugely triggering for my severe anxiety. And all of this is hard for both of us.

I’m doing the best I can to handle all the things I need to handle, even though it feels like I fall short so much of the time. I’m doing the best I can to help my husband. I’m doing the best I can to deal with the stress and anxiety and overwhelm.

And I’m also trying to do my best at giving myself grace.

Including when it comes to my writing.