Every Day Is a Good Day
Wilma Mankiller
Reflections by Contemporary Indigenous Women
Challenging and passionate are the voices in this gathering of proud indigenous women. Coming together as one, 19 strong and successful women provide a rare glimpse into their lives with the hope that their voices will be heard and their message understood: bear witness to the unforgivable acts that their people have survived and take a step forward in mending old wrongs and forgiving past and present hurts. —From Goodreads
The endurance of this book owes as much to these women’s resilience as to the staying power of its author. Although she died in April 2010 at the age of 64, Mankiller had survived and indeed surpassed what might be considered more than her share of misfortune. In The Way Home, the chief, a key player in the rebuilding of her nation, wrote, “The question I am asked most frequently is why I remain such a positive person, after surviving breast cancer, lymphoma, dialysis, two kidney transplants and systemic myasthenia gravis. The answer is simple: I am Cherokee, and I am a woman. No one knows better than I that every day is indeed a good day.” —Indian Country Today
More about Wilma Mankiller
Fantasía
Johannes Sveinsson Kjarval
Johannes Sveinsson Kjarval (1885 – 1972) was an Icelandic painter who lived for the sake of art and sometimes exchanged paintings for food and shelter. Known for his landscapes, he stated, “All nature is a single symphony, all of it music.”
More art by Johannes Sveinsson Kjarval
Healing Quote of the Day
- Photo by Trevor Dykstra
My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humor, and some style. –Maya Angelou
About Maya Angelou
Dust On My Shoes
Tanita Tikaram
I want a chance of the life I’m missing
I wanna know what it means to be free
and I just want to know
what it is to let go
More by Tanita Tikaram
Post by EarMUSICofficial
Milestones Occur Every Day!
Julia Fox Garrison
Photo by Jason Mrachina
Fifteen years ago today, I narrowly escaped the Grim Reaper’s scythe. Every year since, I have marked this day as a ‘Homage to my Hemorrhage,’ celebrating the gift of more time here on earth. Originally, I thought of this year’s anniversary as a milestone, but in reflection, I realize that every day is a milestone, an extra opportunity to make a positive difference.
Although my life’s path as I had envisioned veered way of course, I am immensely grateful for the incredible opportunities my stroke has given me. I never felt like a victim of stroke, but rather a survivor of life’s happenstance. While some may cringe that I refer to my stroke as a gift, it has shaped my life in ways that are surprisingly full of wonderful possibilities and brought many remarkable people into my life, people who leave me in awe and inspired by the power of the human spirit.
No one completely escapes adversity, be it physical, emotional, or financial. Mine happened to be a paralyzing stroke, but it has given me insight to what is important. My stroke has taught me lessons that keep me grounded, fulfilled, and ready to greet each day with renewed hope. Thanks to my stroke, I’ve learned:
- ● Life is about choice. Each choice is predicated on my prior choice.
- ● Laughter truly is the best medicine for the mind, body and spirit. I require daily doses. It starts by laughing at myself, and when my dear friends join in, it creates a cacophony of joy.
- ● No one is responsible for my happiness but me. I must choose to be happy. But just because I choose it doesn’t make it so; it takes hard work.
- ● I must overcome obstacles to accomplish a goal. Obstacles, or roadblocks, cause detours, but I am not discouraged. Detours often lead to new discoveries about myself and what I am capable of.
- ● The proverbial ‘light at the end of the tunnel’ is there only if I find it within myself to foresee a positive outcome.
I am not my stroke. Does it define me? In some ways, perhaps, but it is only one side of the multifaceted person I am. I am the victor of my stroke; I conquered the beast. Yes, it raises its ugly head daily, but I am battle ready. This enemy did not defeat me, it only made me stronger, wiser, grateful, happier, yes, happier. I know up-close-and-personal that every day I get out of bed is a gift.
Reposted from the blog of Survivor, Speaker and Best-selling Author, Julia Fox Garrison, author of Don’t Leave Me this Way: or When I Get Back on My Feet You’ll be Sorry
Year of Wonders
Geraldine Brooks
When an infected bolt of cloth carries plague from London to an isolated village, a housemaid named Anna Frith emerges as an unlikely heroine and healer. Through Anna’s eyes we follow the story of the fateful year of 1666, as she and her fellow villagers confront the spread of disease and superstition. As death reaches into every household and villagers turn from prayers to murderous witch-hunting, Anna must find the strength to confront the disintegration of her community and the lure of illicit love. As she struggles to survive and grow, a year of catastrophe becomes instead annus mirabilis, a “year of wonders.”
Inspired by the true story of Eyam, a village in the rugged hill country of England, Year of Wonders is a richly detailed evocation of a singular moment in history. Written with stunning emotional intelligence and introducing “an inspiring heroine” (The Wall Street Journal), Brooks blends love and learning, loss and renewal into a spellbinding and unforgettable read.
The Thinker
Chaïbia Tallal
Chaïbia Tallal (1929 – 2004) was born to a peasant family in Chtuka, Morroco. At the age of 13 she was married to an older man who died two years later, leaving her a widowed mother at the age of 15. With no education, Chaïbia spun wool and worked as a housekeeper to support herself and her son. She refused to remarry, choosing freedom over financial stability. After raising her son, Chaïbia fulfilled her dream of putting paintbrush to canvas. Her paintings are known worldwide and her story is celebrated by all who desire freedom and dare to dream.
More works by Chaïbia Tallal
Come to the Edge
Christopher Logue
Photo by Ben Stanfield
Come to the edge.
We might fall.
Come to the edge.
It’s too high!
COME TO THE EDGE!
And they came,
and he pushed,
and they flew.
More about Christopher Logue
I Knew You Before You Told Me
Michelle Martinka
Photo by Joe Wolf
From the moment she was born, I knew she was different. Adelaide Eileen was born at only 18 inches, with my button nose and crooked pinkies. What she was born without was what caught my eye.
27 years ago I came flying into this world with a shock of dark hair, flailing all 21 inches of my body in a fury weighing just shy of 5 1/2 pounds. During the 3 hours I pushed with Addie, I remember seeing her dark hair, feeling her head and then seeing her little body. She looked just like me, but, to be honest, squat. I held my little ball of baby, loving her all over and sharing with no one.
I wanted to ask the doctors a million questions- I was shocked the next day when her pediatrician measured her at 18 inches. I knew before I asked. I knew she was my genetic miracle. Our little package of jumbled up genes that was perfectly delivered to us.
A daughter holds her mother’s hand for a while and her heart forever.
I was so tired, but I couldn’t stop staring. She was the most beautiful human I’d ever seen. Watching her grow, or not, led me to think something was up- but you only think to ask the doctors a question if you think there is something wrong. In my heart of hearts I knew there was nothing wrong, just different about my little Addie. Then I read all about it. Her head was big. I was so scared. Could she have hydrocephalus? I researched all I could. I took Addie to her 2 month appointment and mentioned it to the nurse doing her measurements. She said her head circumference was growing, and my heart sank. I wanted to hear “don’t worry about it.” But, as you know from my first post, we ended up leaving that appointment with a script for an ultrasound of her head and x-rays of her long bones.
I took her home, undressed her and examined every inch. I saw her inner thighs and how small her hands were. The non-existent bridge of her nose. The way her legs bowed out. I saw her face, with those shining, deep violet eyes staring up at me. And she’s perfect.
After her diagnosis, Dave and I told a few people. Looking for initial reactions- a way to gauge our responses to people and learn what kind of reactions we would be fielding. And, as if getting unexpected news wasn’t confusing enough, the other shoe dropped. People said they were sorry. Dave and I found ourselves trying to stop people from saying the wrong thing. Did we tell the wrong close friends? Was it something we said?
Nothing is wrong with her. Why are you sorry? We’re not. It’s not unfortunate. We’re beyond fortunate to have been chosen by this baby girl.
I knew she was the most beautiful girl from the moment she was born. She is loved to the core- and being so small, that’s a lot of love per inch!
I knew before they told me. I knew she was going to be the best thing to ever happen to me. I knew it. And I love every little bit.
Reposted from A is for Adelaide… and Achondroplasia