Seams Like a Story

May 18, 2026May 18, 2026

Ziplining over New Zealand

When you get a chance…

In my previous post, Dance, I said (paraphrasing a popular song) that when I had the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope I danced. Little did I know that a month later, I would get the chance to fly! Here is my journal entry from a day in the life on my recent trip to New Zealand!

Saturday, April 11

It was an optional activity, and when our trip leader asked who wanted to go ziplining I said a timid maybe. I’d seen the videos on the Canopy tours site and, truth be told, it terrified me. Our trip leader encouraged me saying that in her experience many people had the same trepidation as I did, but when they came back from the experience, it was one of the highlights of the entire New Zealand trip. I took a deep breath and said yes.

After the Canopy Tours van picked us up from the hotel, we met at their office where we signed a waiver (agreeing that we realized there were some risks… such as falling from a great height. Yikes!) ,got weighed (evidently there is a limit to how much the tethers can handle), and were fitted for our harness that was to be our life line (literally). We drove to the forest, then walked through the amazing virgin timber of Rotorua to get to the first platform.

Along the way, the guides pointed out interesting sights, blue and red mushrooms, giant silverleaf ferns, tall pines.The silverleaf ferns are significant and the symbol of NZ. They are above-head height with beautiful and elegant fronds. The underside is silver and reflects light in the dark. There is a legend that when the Maori people were forced to evacuate their homes, they left a tail of fern fronds so that when illuminated by the moon, it would leave a trail for others to follow. The smell of wet, dark soil and the sound of soft footsteps on the leaf covered trail mixed with the jangle of the heavy-duty equipment strapped to our sides

.As we climbed up to the first platform my heart pounded. The guide attached The first person, and off they went. When it was my turn, I held my breath as I looked down as I stepped from the platform. I was a little shaky, but when I sat down into my harness, I felt amazingly secure. The Guide called to the guide from on the landing platform “ Debs on!” And off I went!

It was Exhilarating!! Flying fast above the treetops, I laughed out loud. My landing was a little rough, but the guide was there to pull me up onto the platform. Once there, we were tethered onto a cable to ensure we didn’t fall off. 5 more times we zipped. Probably the most terrifying part was walking across the two suspension bridges, strung high above the forest floor with no handrails. But we were tethered to a line above our heads. The last zip was in the dark, after the sun had set.

My trip leader was right. It turned out to be one of the most amazing parts of my trip to New Zealand. I’m so glad I didn’t sit this one out. I danced, I flew! If you ever get the chance, don’t sit out…ZIP!

Threads of Thought

Tell about a time when you stepped out of your comfort zone and were glad you did!

You can find more adventures in my books OUT OF THE CRAYON BOX and UNTIL ITALY. Click here!

March 23, 2026March 22, 2026

Dance

Every Tuesday, I lace up my tennies and go to the community center for line dancing class. I’m a beginner and sometimes I lindy-hop when I’m supposed to grape-vine or I end up facing the back of the class when everyone else is facing front. But no one cares!

Coming of age in the 70s with the Beatles, James Taylor, and Carol King, I never considered myself a fan of country music but as soon as the sounds of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie or “A Bar Song” pulse through the room, my hips start to sway and my feet can’t wait to frolic around the floor. It’s sooo much fun!

Full disclosure: I have some dancing background. My mom signed me up for ballet and tap dancing classes when I was maybe six or seven years old, the thing suburban mom’s did before the days when girls were allowed to do sports. I learned to plie’ and releve’ and shuffle-ball-step, but it never went much further than that. I tried out to be a dancer in my high school’s production of My Fair Lady and the drama teacher selected me as an “alternate.” If someone had broken a leg I would have had my dancing debut. No one did. Oh, and I took modern dance and folk dance classes in college to fulfill my PE requirement.

My granddaughters are dancers. Michaela was a member of her high school’s marching band color guard and now competes as part of an independent dance troupe. When Lillian attended an introductory Irish dance class as a young girl, she fell in love. She now jigs and reels in competitions and exhibitions all over the country. And Melanie cranks up her favorite Disney tunes and dances with wild abandon around the house.

This Christmas when I was visiting my son and his family in Atlanta, I talked them into going to a bar that featured line dancing. I’d had several months of class behind me and wanted to test my skills out in the wild. Arriving early, the place wasn’t crowded. I recognized a few songs and ventured out on the dance floor with Lillian and her boyfriend and the boyfriend’s little brother. We danced and laughed and had a ball. As the evening wore on the “real” dancers showed up in their spangled jeans and midriff tops and boots and fancy steps. I was soon out of my league and relinquished the floor, but I’m glad I had put myself out there. For a few glorious moments, I was a line dancer!

On my way home from my dance class this week, the radio was playing Lee Ann Womack’s song “I Hope You Dance.” I cranked up the volume and belted out the words as the ending lines filled the car.

“When you get the choice to sit it out or dance…I hope you dance.

I hope you dance.”

Of course, the song isn’t literally about dancing, but it challenges the listener to take a chance, get off of life’s sidelines and live. See the world, smell the roses, fall in love, “never take one single breath for granted.”

I think about times when I could have done something, but I pulled back. For fear of looking foolish, or thought I wasn’t good enough, or didn’t have the time, or money, or thought something else was more important, or I didn’t want to get involved, or I thought it would be too hard, or it was easier to sit back and let someone else do it, or….(fill in the blank) I wonder what I might have missed along the way.

Now, when I get the choice, I hope I dance.

Threads of Thought

Go to your playlist and find ” I Hope you Dance”. Turn up the volume and sing along. Now go out and do something for the pure fun of it this week!

author holding two books, Until Italy and Out of the Crayon Box

(When not dancing, I may be writing Find my books here!)

March 2, 2026March 2, 2026

Daffodil Days 2

This time of year, I’m obsessed with daffodils. Maybe it goes back to my Midwestern roots. I spent most of my life in southern Indiana where winters are cold, drizzly, and gray. During winter, the glorious deciduous trees of autumn are bare and stark, the luxurious green lawns of summer are brown and muddy, and cabin fever rages.

It was the worst time of year for those of us in the teaching profession. The period between winter break and spring break seemed to go on forever. Indoor recess had lost it’s charm, students were restless, and teachers were weary.

When my husband and I moved our family to a house in the woods, the kids and I planted daffodil bulbs on the hillside behind the house. Each dormant bulb held the promise that spring would come. We couldn’t wait to see the first green shoots springing up form under the leaf mulch in the woods. When the hillside burst into bloom, we knew winter days would soon be gone. Each year, I would gather a large boquet and bring it inside.

the authors grandmother in a field of yellow tulips

Daffodils remind me of my grandmother. They were her favorite flower though she called them jonquils. I like to call them that too, though purists say they are both in the Narcissus family, however there are slight differences.

But what’s in a name? My grandmother’s name was Josephine Marie. She preferred to go by Marie, but allowed Grandpa to call her Josie . “..a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Currently, I live in the Southwest. There is an abundance of wildflowers blooming in the desert this spring, but sadly, no daffodils grow here. I was thrilled when a friend brought me a bundle of of spindly little stems in pre-bloom stage she’d purchased at Trader Joe”s. As per her directions, I snipped off a half inch from each stem and put them into some water.

Now, my kitchen counter is glowing with yellow blooms! I know they are short-lived, but for now I am enjoying the burst of spring, the reminders of Grandma, my Indiana home, and the end of winter.

But I think it’s deeper than that. Perhaps , for me, these bright yellow blooms bursting from dormant bulbs and spindly stalks give me hope and courage. Their blooms are fleeting. Their message lingers.

Threads of Thought

To those of you still in the throes of winter, hang in there! Spring is coming! Watch for it!

Click here for your next good read!

February 16, 2026February 15, 2026

Going for Gold

This week, I found myself glued to the television watching the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan/Cortina. I was captivated by the crazy curlers launching their stones and yelling directions to teammates who frantically swept the the ice ahead of them. I gasped as cross country skiers collapsed at the finish line after spending every ounce of their energy on the grueling course. I marveled at the daredevil jumps, twists, and flights of snowboarders and ski jumpers. I held my breath as lugers and skeleton athletes launched themselves like human misses down the ice on tiny sleds reaching speeds of up to 90 mph.

But my favorite is figure skating. I love the costumes, the music, the way the athletes tell their story through, specific moves, dance, music, and costumes as they glide around the rink. Ilia Malinin, a 21 year-old skater from the US, was competing in his first Olympics. He’d gained fame in previous completions as the “Quad God”, for his unprecedented ability to land multiple quadruple jumps. He was a shoo-in to take gold in the men’s figure skating event. The pressure was on and the media paparazzi followed his every move throughout the week.

In his first appearance on Olympic ice, he faltered a bit in the team competition, coming in second. He seemed to have regained his composure a few days later and came in first in the initial part of the individual men’s event. All he had to do was skate the free skate portion of the program and the gold would be his. But something was off. On several of his signature quad jumps, he landed singles. Then he fell. Twice. He ended up in eighth place. It was heartbreaking to watch.

After learning the results, Malinin walked over to Kazakhstan’s Mikhail Shaidorov to congratulate him on his Olympic gold medal win. He later said that the pressure of being in the Olympic spotlight got to him and he “lost his way” on the ice on the most important skate of his life.

There is no official Olympics for authors, but often the “gold medal” is measured by Best Seller lists, five star ratings, social media followers, books sold, invitations to book festivals and speaking events. It’s easy to get caught up in the competition, or feel that your work doesn’t measure up. When faced with a disappointment or a setback, it would be easy to give up.

That’s when I turn to this quote by Elizabeth Gilbert (Big Magic):

“There is a quiet glory in merely making things, and then sharing those things with an open heart and no expectations.”

We take the setbacks, learn from them, and move on. We remind ourselves of the passion, the joy we take in creating our art and sharing it with others. No expectations. Out of the spotlight. A quiet glory.

I don’t pretend to be an Olympic skater, and I can only imagine what Ilia must be going through, but I hope he rekindles his passion, gains from this experience, and finds his way back. I look forward to seeing what he can do next.

Threads of Thought

Are you a fan of the Olympics? What is your favorite Winter Olympic sport?

Besides the Olympics, what else happens in Italy? “Book” your adventure now!

UNTIL ITALY: a Traveler’s Memoir

available here in paperback, Ebook and Kindle Unlimited

February 2, 2026February 2, 2026

Kneading Wisdom

Lessons from the art of breadmaking

wire shelves filled with loaves of bread — Loaves of Sourdough from Barrio Bread

Lately, I’ve been looking for ways to find joy and meaning in the simple things of life. Today, I need look no further than my own kitchen. On this winter’s day, my home is filled with the aroma of freshly baked sourdough bread. Full disclosure, my husband Ed is the baker of our family. He puts all the ingredients together to create the bread. I’m the writer. I put all the words together to create the stories. With that in mind, this post aspires to rise to the occasion and warm your heart.

Here are some lessons from the art of breadmaking:

Get off to a good start.

In the back corner of my refrigerator stands a plastic container of goo technically known as the starter, a live, fermented culture of flour and water that acts as a natural leavening agent. Yes, live. You have to feed it some flour every now and then. It’s kind of like having a pet except that the starter doesn’t shed and you don’t have to clean up after it (unless it gets overactive and erupts all over the inside of the fridge.)

Our starter has a pedigree; it came from the James Beard Award winning baker Don Guerra, of Barrio Bread in Tucson. During the pandemic, Don kept his bakery open meeting (socially distanced) customers one at a time at the front door. He created an online bread baking course and offered to give a starter to anyone who wanted to try their hand a baking at home. This is how my husband learned to bake sourdough bread and how a baby starter came to live with us.

Don’t be afraid to roll up your sleeves and get messy.

Ed takes off his wedding ring and uses his hands to mix the simple ingredients: flour(we use the Barrio blend of heritage grains), water, salt, and starter- together in a glass bowl. At this point the mixture is sticky and wet.

Let things develop at their own pace.

Making bread, especially sourdough bread takes time and patience. Ed goes through a sequence of kneading, stretching, and proofing the dough several times before it is ready to be shaped into a loaf and baked. There are no shortcuts. The dough will let you know when it’s ready.

Share the Love

Finally, Ed takes the golden brown loaf from the oven. We slice a few pieces off one end, spread on some butter, and enjoy our first bites. Perfection. We intend to save the rest to share with our friends who will be arriving soon. There is nothing more profound than breaking bread with others.

What else can we share? A smile, a word of encouragement, a helping hand extended to a neighbor, a ‘thank you’, a story? Let’s do it!

Threads of Thought

Don Guerra shares his loaves and bread baking expertise daily. You can learn more about Don and Barrio Bread at http://barriobread.com

I love to take life’s ordinary moments and turn them into extraordinary stories to share with you!

Click here!