It was a sad day when Mogget took his last journey. However, I find myself thinking about him with joy because I know he spent most of his brief life with people who loved and cherished him.

On the first day of every month—before you utter any other word—say Rabbit! Rabbit! When you do, you will have good luck all month long (or so it is said).

I love a good cemetery.

Maybe my penchant for cemeteries started when I was little and my parents dragged my sisters and me to my grandmother’s headstone every Memorial Day weekend.

As I write this post, I am mourning the passing of a friend who I think of as part of the Greatest Generation (those born from 1901-1927). Technically, this friend was in the Silent Generation, since she was born in 1933. But, to me, she had all the characteristics of greatness.

She was a wife, mother, grandmother. She worked and, later, became a philanthropist who gave generously, particularly in our regional community. She believed in the strength and power of women and, to that end, she supported and lifted up women. She was joyful. She knew how to laugh. She listened. She cared.

The Harry Potter books came along at exactly the right time for my daughter and me. She was in third grade when I bought "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." We read it aloud in the evenings...I would read a page out loud, and then she would read a paragraph. This went on until book 4 ("Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire"), when I told her that our process was too slow, and she needed to read it herself (while I did the same).

Team ButtHeads (Cheeky Riders) are at it again! This time Lysa is riding solo, but she carries on the tradition whileAl cheers her on!

In the past—and in an effort to keep up with social media outlets while avoiding political brawls—I have featured on Instagram and Facebook a month of “Tiny, Beautiful Things” (the title is a nod to Cheryl Strayed’s marvelous book: Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar)...a month of “Lake Life”...and a month of something that I don’t even remember.

Since I started practicing yoga in 2015 (with daily practices beginning in January of 2018), I have gone to many yoga studios. In addition to my “home” studio, I have practiced in places where I traveled: Placerville, California...Naples, Florida...Wellfleet, Massachusetts...Davidson and Charlotte, North Carolina...and elsewhere.

Car keys. House keys. Wallet. Cell Phone. Chapstick. Air pods. TV remote controls. Car (in crowded parking lot).

Hardly a day passes without something being lost.

Always those lost items are found.

When I was a kid, we biked everywhere. On the street. In the “big woods” behind our neighbor’s house. To Mike’s Market. To the school and playground. To friends’ houses.

Everywhere.

Dumpster Dive Dinner Dates.

Approximately once every month, my husband, our friends Mike and Lisa, and I go out for dinner. Typically, we choose local “dumpster dive” restaurants because we want to support local restaurateurs...try local specialties...and broaden our outlooks on dining in Northeast Ohio. Plus, having opportunities to spend time with two of our closest friends became even more meaningful during and, now, after the Pandemic. With them, every new experience is fun and memorable.

In early June, my husband and I traveled to the Shenandoah Valley. Harrisonburg. Staunton. Charlottesville. We had lived there for nearly 5 years and loved everything about it. People were warm and welcoming to us, and we now have many friends there. The weather is terrific...4 distinct seasons with long, lingering springs and autumn...and winters typically see 2 or 3 snowfalls (that melt within a couple of days). Breweries. Wineries. Splendid hiking in the Shenandoah National Park/Skyline Drive. Fabulous restaurants.

Mum and Al are in the Blue Ridge Mountains this week. Driving along Skyline Drive and hiking every chance they get. Since they are preoccupied, I offered to write this week’s blog post.

My name is Lysa. I am the fiddler in the background, the manager of the website, the cheerleader jumping up and down in the stands, and Pamela Anderson’s daughter.

Over the winter, our lakeside deck was visited by raccoons, possums, a couple of skunks, groundhogs, two otters, a fox, a coyote (a few times), and a Great Blue Heron.

The lake was home to Canada Geese, Mallard ducks, comorants, more Great Blue Herons, swallows, and (occasionally) a Bald Eagle. And then there were the carp, bass, and Mr. T (a turtle).

Next to the New Orleans Museum of Art—the city’s oldest fine arts institution (opened in December 1911)—is the gorgeous Sydney and Walda Besthoff Sculpture Garden.

New Orleans is...complicated.

Hot (even in mid-May...upper 80s). Dirty (even with street sweepers). Sometimes a little smelly

(especially when it’s hot...especially in the morning on Bourbon Street). Expensive (but...easy to find

inexpensive things to do, too).

New Orleans also is...fun. Beautiful. Crazy. Charming. Sad. Happy. Musical. Wonderful.

My husband and I have not been in the Big Easy since 2018. So this trip—with friends!—felt like a little

homecoming.

It feels as though reading was always a part of my life. My older sister, Jackie, helped me learn to read (she was a strict teacher, “making” me sound out words, rather than letting me be lazy about figuring out difficult, multi-syllabic words). And my mother was an avid reader; she read far into the night and was fairly forgiving when it came to allowing us to delay chores when we were reading. Plus, she never censored any books that my sisters and I wanted to read.

In early May, I visited an internationally known arts center that is dedicated to papermaking, book arts, and letterpress printing. The Morgan Art of Papermaking Conservatory and Educational Foundation in Cleveland, Ohio.

The Morgan.

I have read The Awakening several times. Whenever I read it, I feel the claustrophobic restrictions that women faced at that time. I see how women had limited options: wife, mother, maybe teacher, protected by a male sibling...little more than chattel. I understand how a woman could look at her life and want more. How a woman could want the freedom to do and be what she wanted to do and be.

When I travel, I try to practice yoga at whatever studio is near my hotel. I’ve practiced in Naples, Florida...Placerville, California...Wellfleet, Massachusetts...Asheville, North Carolina...Harrisonburg, Virginia...and elsewhere. I like seeing new studios and meeting different teachers and have found every place and person to be special.

But, as memorable as these studios have been, none has been as memorable as Terra Sol Sanctuary in Wilmington, North Carolina.