Anne Richardson

March 8, 2024

Community, Connection, Covid-19, Gratitude, Grief and Loss, Hope, Kindness, My Mentor Grief, Newsletter, Pandemic, Seasons, spiriutal companionship, unanticipated loss, Winter

Winter Newsletter: Preparing Our Hearts For Grief Anniversaries: COVID Edition

Anne Richardson

March 8, 2024

Community, Connection, Covid-19, Gratitude, Grief and Loss, Hope, Kindness, My Mentor Grief, Newsletter, Pandemic, Seasons, spiriutal companionship, unanticipated loss, Winter

As Winter merges into Spring in the Pacific NW, I look at entrances to shops and see faded reminders from four years ago to stand “six-feet apart.” Painted flowers. Foot prints. Circles indicating “6’". Whatever the store thought would be helpful to remind folks to stay separated. Yes, the four year anniversary of the pandemic is close-at-hand. So many shifts in four years!

Perhaps like me your camera roll likes to offer memories, the “before photos,” where we were gathered at sardine-packed events unaware we were likely “at risk.” Then came the “after.” The impromptu masks…scarves wrapped loosely around faces, YouTube videos showing us how to make a mask from old t-shirts, folks digging through piles of material making free masks for healthcare workers, trying to fill a need…weak attempts at protection until we could buy something we thought was better…or at least more comfortable. Hand sanitizer at every doorway and checkout counter. Constant reminders to “wash your hands and not touch your face.” Washing groceries and placing mail in ziplock bags for a day or two (remember that!) And all the closures. The wide berths when walking. The lack of hugs. And ZOOM! Suddenly everything moved to Zoom.

Anne Richardson

January 22, 2024

Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Kindness, Lament, My Mentor Grief, Winter, spiriutal companionship, Weathering Storms, Poetry

Grief in the Aftermath of a Storm

Anne Richardson

January 22, 2024

Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Kindness, Lament, My Mentor Grief, Winter, spiriutal companionship, Weathering Storms, Poetry

I began writing this Thursday, January 18th before I lost power a second time due to the storms in the Pacific NW. Instead of rewriting in the present tense, I’m going to leave the opening as is: “A cold spell is caressing the Pacific NW like hands just pulled from a freezer. I’m finding it difficult to string more than five words together as a malaise has settled into my bones. This Arctic Traveler didn’t followed the forecast and leave town on the scheduled flight yesterday and is lingering, unwelcome. The trees that thawed briefly are once again coated in a veneer of ice. A hummingbird returns time and time again to the rhododendron outside my window and sits for minutes, shivering. I can see the small heart beating, trying to maintain heat. Someone must be maintaining a feeder, for he does leave and return. Could I go out and cup him in my hands? Would that help?

Anne Richardson

December 7, 2023

Community, Connection, Darkness, Grief and Loss, Grief, Grief Journey, Hope, Invitations, Kindness, Labyrinth, My Mentor Grief, Seasons, Slow Time, Stillness, Winter

Darkness: The Gift of Winter That Allows For Stillness...and Grief

Anne Richardson

December 7, 2023

Community, Connection, Darkness, Grief and Loss, Grief, Grief Journey, Hope, Invitations, Kindness, Labyrinth, My Mentor Grief, Seasons, Slow Time, Stillness, Winter

Puddles grow by the hour and rivers swell close to capacity. LED headlights penetrate my windshield, streaking the rain into mini-star bursts and I wonder if I have reached that age where driving at night will soon be out of reach. Perhaps it is the sign I need as Winter veils us in a wet cloak to draw the blinds and stay in these long, dark evenings.

Anne Richardson

October 26, 2023

Ancestral Journey, Blessings Ritual Ceremony, Darkness, Gratitude, Grief and Loss, Grief Journey, Invitations, My Mentor Grief, Time, Thresholds, Slow Time, Poetry

Weaving Slow Time Into Our Lives

Anne Richardson

October 26, 2023

Ancestral Journey, Blessings Ritual Ceremony, Darkness, Gratitude, Grief and Loss, Grief Journey, Invitations, My Mentor Grief, Time, Thresholds, Slow Time, Poetry

Next week we will cross from autumn into earliest winter. The darkening nights enfold me and I am grateful for the cool kiss of air that greets me when I wake. The call to deeper rest is not only during the earlier arrival of evenings, but in the low hanging sun in day-sky.

Autumn Newsletter: Harvesting Rest

In recent years, my local climate has not followed the usual patterns of weaving cool weather into night, to leaves surrendering their green into startling reds and yellows, and flowers dropping to mulch into soil as autumn approaches. Oh, it arrives in some form, but a bit chagrined and with a folder full of explanations. So I was happy, yes happy, to don my rain gear as the calendar officially announced the equinox in my beloved Pacific NW and the Nature that surrounds me magically turned on cue. As one who has lived all but the first four years of her life in this region of the world, the shift in seasons is one way I navigate the spiral of my being. The harvest of rest this season offers, with its lengthening nights and bundling of my body for warmth, reminds me of all the moments I’ve forgotten in the chaos of summer about SLOW TIME. Slow time, something I lean into with more grace as I age. Stepping away from the demands of external clocks (though they still seems to dictate more of my life than I desire.)

Singing Grief & Loss Into Our Voices

As summer wanes the songs of birds have also waned. I am no longer roused from sleep by the Dark-eyed Juncos’ romancing lilt an hour before the sun rises. Spring desire stirred their songs to life, along with Robins, Chickadees, Nuthatches, and so many more back when Rain still canvased Pacific Northwest landscape. Now the Junco’s nesting season is over, other wee birds stop by for sips from the birdbaths (Juncos understandably did not want to share space while they were parenting and kept other birds at bay.) I welcome the return of the full calliope.

Weaving Grief Into Our Enchanted Lives

Do you suppose small birds mourn? That, as their wee ones start out as four bodies emerging wet from beige, palest turquoise, and brown speckled eggs, one mouth seeming to crave life from the get-go while the others curl around the deep hearth of nest, waiting to stretch toward light, their parents ready to feed, to nurture, do they begin instinctual hoping? Do you wonder if, as the nest dwindles to one, they search for the lost or keep a keener eye on the ever-open mouth of the one remaining? Do they take time to sing a lament from the bow of the fir for the ones that never flew? And when, one morning after a night of tending, warming, they return for first feed to discover the one gone, no mouth to fill, too soon to fledge, do they weep bird tears? Do they rend their feathers? I wonder. I wonder.

Anne Richardson

June 29, 2023

Ambiguous Loss, Blessings Ritual Ceremony, Community, Connection, Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Grief Journey, Invitations, Labyrinth, My Mentor Grief, Poetry, professional presentation, Questions, Seasons, spiritual journey, spiriutal companionship

Early Summer Newsletter: In Community With Birds

Anne Richardson

June 29, 2023

Ambiguous Loss, Blessings Ritual Ceremony, Community, Connection, Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Grief Journey, Invitations, Labyrinth, My Mentor Grief, Poetry, professional presentation, Questions, Seasons, spiritual journey, spiriutal companionship

I guess this ”Early Summer” newsletter is substituting for the never-written-but often-contemplated “Spring” newsletter. It was an odd spring, what with a very wet start, a mid-season hot spell that dissipated into an almost autumnal feel. Oh, we had the occasional mid-80’s day and the tulips, lilacs, irises, peonies, dogwoods, and other seasonal regulars bloomed in color-wheel splendor to remind us Pacific Northwesterners that, yes, the calendar was correct. It was April. May. June. Somehow the writing of the Spring newsletter was waylaid by the enchantment of greening landscapes, creating and fine tuning my recent presentation, and pondering (okay obsessing about) my future “home” options…an ongoing journey I will not delve into right now.

Anne Richardson

May 17, 2023

Ambiguous Loss, Connection, Gratitude, Grief and Loss, Kindness, My Mentor Grief, professional presentation, spiriutal companionship, Stillness, Thresholds, Wildness

Grief Never Fails Me

Anne Richardson

May 17, 2023

Ambiguous Loss, Connection, Gratitude, Grief and Loss, Kindness, My Mentor Grief, professional presentation, spiriutal companionship, Stillness, Thresholds, Wildness

Spring finally arrived and it has been so dang frenetic and my still winter-paced body has been in overwhelm. The season was a good three weeks later than last year, as evidenced by my camera roll, with cool mornings and cold rains and lots of mud lingering well past the “April Showers” phase. The greens, as if suddenly alert to the change, are verdant, vivacious, vivid, and a full thesaurus of vibrant adjectives. Then there are the blossoms, the birds and all the wildness of this burgeoning season in full glory. It is so alive. And it isn’t that I don’t appreciate walking in the sunrise light and not having headlight-glare driving in the early evening hours. But, as I noted recently to a friend, as this season of flowing is upon us, I have felt more like ebbing. Finding stillness in the eruption of Spring energy can be challenging. Perhaps I should contact my Aussie friends and go to the Southern Hemisphere for a few months. A recent unseasonable heatwave has compounded the urgency in the air as if proclaiming “Summer is already here!” I haven’t even come on board with Spring. Sigh.

Anne Richardson

February 12, 2023

Ambiguous Loss, Community, Connection, Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Hope, Intangible Loss, My Mentor Grief, Poetry, Seasons, spiriutal companionship, disenfranchised grief

Coastal Language of Ambiguous Loss & Disenfranchised Grief

Anne Richardson

February 12, 2023

Ambiguous Loss, Community, Connection, Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Hope, Intangible Loss, My Mentor Grief, Poetry, Seasons, spiriutal companionship, disenfranchised grief

I can sense the relief in my interactions with others these days. It is FINALLY light after 5:30pm! Yes! Folks are smiling again. Hope in the form of longer days in the Northern Hemisphere has arrived. We passed the midpoint of winter February 1st and “suddenly” first light crests the horizon well before 7am and daylight lingers longer. Last Tuesday at 6pm when I set out on my Mazama Street Ramble, there was still a vague hint of light in the west as stars started to bud. A clear night blossoming after a day of steady rain.

Nature takes the seasonal shifts in stride. If I look back through my camera roll, there are photos of daffodil tips poking through the soil in February from years past. Already the hellebore are blooming and if I draw a dogwood twig close to my eyes I can see the beginnings of budding. From a distance the deciduous trees appear to still be slumbering, but beneath their exterior they are awakening. It all feels predictable…or at least variations on a theme. And humans, for the most part, we like predictable.

Anne Richardson

October 6, 2022

Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Honoriing Life Transition, Invitations, Kindness, Life Transitions, My Mentor Grief, Poetry, Seasons

Listening to Life's Seasonal Shifts

Anne Richardson

October 6, 2022

Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Honoriing Life Transition, Invitations, Kindness, Life Transitions, My Mentor Grief, Poetry, Seasons

Autumn has arrived in the Pacific NW. That certain crispness in the air that nips at you when you walk out the door pre-dawn. The crunch of leaves underfoot that creates wildness even in urban settings. And my favorite—morning fog rising like steam from the valley up to The Summit when I take my morning walk. Summer seemed to last f o r e v e r. And even unseasonably hot days continue to float into the forecast and suddenly I’m wearing shorts again for a day or two. But night is overtaking day earlier and cools off the heat with its breath. And I say to myself, “You made it.”

Anne Richardson

May 9, 2022

Ancestral Journey, Belonging, Covid-19, dementia, Gestations, Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Grief Journey, My Mentor Grief, Pandemic, Pilgrimage, Seasons, Sojourn, Stillness

Lessons from the Pandemic: Unsettled Grief—Where do we go from here?

Anne Richardson

May 9, 2022

Ancestral Journey, Belonging, Covid-19, dementia, Gestations, Gratitude, Grief, Grief and Loss, Grief Journey, My Mentor Grief, Pandemic, Pilgrimage, Seasons, Sojourn, Stillness

Wee birds have created three nests outside my apartment. Three! One on the wreath attached to my front door. Two are on the deck in hanging pots. Juncos have taken up residency, voicing annoyance with every coming and going. I tap on the door before exiting, tug slowly on the handle and apologize to the small body complaining on the railing, railing at my disturbance. When I return home, I see a small head poking out of the nest. I wave my hand “hello,” and the mama flies out and sizes me up, assess the situation. Will I try to harm her eggs? What tack should she take? Attack? Opening the door, I slip inside. I want to retrieve my step stool and peek at the eggs, but that seems like an intrusion. They need nurturing. Warmth, not peering. So I leave them be, though I can’t resist snapping a quick photo before she returns.

Anne Richardson

March 20, 2020

Grief, Mother Ocean, Covid-19

Lessons from Sea Stars: Loss, Resilience, Hope, and Love (Plus a Free Offering)

Anne Richardson

March 20, 2020

Grief, Mother Ocean, Covid-19

Ah, this post. It feels like it has gone through twenty iterations. It started at the coast. Now I am home and still wandering through my words, culling, rephrasing, discerning. I want to share that Mother Ocean offered heart after heart on my journey to Cannon Beach, Oregon. She is sending you love. It was as if she said, “Daughter, that needs to be the core message.” And so, perhaps previous drafts were for me and not you. To navigate my own response to Covid-19 before returning to my center. Balanced. What remains goes out from my heart to yours. As always, take what you need and leave the rest. And if you read (or skip) to the end, I am offering a free service, a gift, my way of being of service during this time.

Anne Richardson

February 21, 2020

Gratitude, Grief, Grief Journey, Life Transitions, My Mentor Grief, Sojourn, spiritual journey, Intangible Loss, Gestations

Grief's Dance Card, Loss Reminders, and Compass Points

Anne Richardson

February 21, 2020

Gratitude, Grief, Grief Journey, Life Transitions, My Mentor Grief, Sojourn, spiritual journey, Intangible Loss, Gestations

Spring is making an early appearance in the Pacific NW and I suppose I am happy about that. The daffodils are starting to bloom and daffodils of all ilk were my mother’s and are one of my favorite flowers. Our winter has been wet, but no bitter cold snaps and snow has remained in the mountains where I prefer it. I’ve relished the long, dark nights and even the endless days of January rain didn’t bother me while many of my friends shared feelings of being sucked into a gray cloud the size of the state of Oregon. So, I guess I’m happy spring is less than four weeks away.

Anne Richardson

January 8, 2020

Gratitude, spiritual journey, Life Transitions, My Mentor Grief, Sojourn

Winter's Lessons on Grief, Expansiveness, and Transformation

Anne Richardson

January 8, 2020

Gratitude, spiritual journey, Life Transitions, My Mentor Grief, Sojourn

The wind has dropped a limb outside my apartment building, blocking a path. Steady rain has floated decaying leaves downstream, clogging drains and creating mini-ponds in parking lots and along roadsides. I have cloistered myself inside most of the day watching the sky move from chalky gray to a black that bounces the remaining ambient lights of Christmas back down on the neighborhood. We are in deep winter in the Pacific Northwest where a week of water-laden clouds may greet us each morning and stay well into the night. For some, it becomes wearisome. Though I tire of the chill in my bones, I welcome the dampening like a trumpeter that mutes the music to soften crisp tones. It is easier to be still this time of year.

Grief in the Aftermath of a Storm

Darkness: The Gift of Winter That Allows For Stillness...and Grief

Weaving Slow Time Into Our Lives

Singing Grief & Loss Into Our Voices

Weaving Grief Into Our Enchanted Lives

Early Summer Newsletter: In Community With Birds

Grief Never Fails Me

Coastal Language of Ambiguous Loss & Disenfranchised Grief

Listening to Life's Seasonal Shifts

Lessons from the Pandemic: Unsettled Grief—Where do we go from here?

Lessons from Sea Stars: Loss, Resilience, Hope, and Love (Plus a Free Offering)

Grief's Dance Card, Loss Reminders, and Compass Points

Winter's Lessons on Grief, Expansiveness, and Transformation

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