Take Fifteen, then Tackle that Mountain

Tackle that mountain, I will,
but first let me rest.
Fifteen quiet clicks are all I need,
because I can’t climb feeling like this.
Exhausted thoughts and limbs
just need a brief escape,
and then those shoes with extra grip,
I will lace.
Lights off and eyes closed before
I begin my late afternoon ascent.
My body instantly melts into the mattress
and my mind, into the mysterious abyss.

Fifteen stretched into thirty.
Still too brief –
this siesta needs an encore.
A peaceful room records
automatic and rhythmic echoes –
inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale …
My body sinking deeper and deeper,
releasing all tension, increased
by this nonstop 21st century.
My mind floating freely,
far removed from this
earthly existence.
A screaming alarm,
I wanted to ignore
but I chose to respond –
uniting my mind and body
once more.
My heavy eyes I opened
and my heavy feet,
I placed on the floor.

My mind and body shaky and unsure;
I took one step, then another,
then another,
then another …
Breathtaking splendor in all directions
soon made me forget
about my weighty hesitation.
My mind now alert,
grateful to be walking this path.
Thankful, it was, to have abandoned sleep
and to have settled back in
to a body that likes to resist.

Walking alone for stretches at a time.
I completely lost sight of you.
Isolation, except for the tiny figures I see
in a boat or a canoe.

We started our walk together,
but you quickly disappeared.
Slow steps –
too much to capture
through my lens.
Quick steps-
Eager you were
to keep up your pace.

Maybe I should keep up,
maybe the sun will set
and alone at the top I will be,
maybe there is a mountain lion
tracking my speed,
maybe, waiting and watching,
she crouches behind me.
Maybe I should just breathe
and enjoy the crunching of the rocks
beneath my feet
and the sound of the solo flyer,
flying higher than any peak.

I am so glad I didn’t let rest
steal my afternoon,
because if I had kept sleeping,
look at all my mind and body
would have missed.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my poem about hiking on what would have otherwise been a lazy afternoon. I am so glad I laced up my shoes and made it to the top! I caught up with my husband, who took this shot. 😏 I hope you have tackled your own mountains this week and that your climb has energized you. ❤️ Have an inspired weekend! Michele

50 Life Stories Update: I am working on Story 46. When I complete this one, only four more to go. I am so close! 😊 50LifeStories.com

Pictures 1-9: Taken while hiking Yavapai Point Trail, Lake Pleasant, Peoria, Arizona

Copyright © 2020 Michele Lee Sefton. All Rights Reserved.

A Pointless Poet Writes While the World Waits

I am the explosion of color before the setting sun disappears.

I am the final display of magnificence before twilight descends.

My color-splashed canvas is brief – a transitory existence.

One of a kind golden photos that are easily missed.

I am an ever changing portrait that continues to unfold –

beautiful and breathtaking, I am a sight to behold.

I am both a moment in time and every story ever told.

A twisted tapestry of light and elements refined.

Everything that we wish to be, exquisitely defined.

As the invisible brush and palette blend,

an awareness washes over me –

not one of melancholy, but guided urgency.

Before the brush and palette are put away a final time

I too will live vibrantly and outwardly –

living a life that is uniquely mine.

Stop. Wait a minute. Is this really what I should be doing

on a Friday, late afternoon?

Are these meandering lines a frivolous waste of fleeting time?

Surely, they are, and this pointless poet should just walk away –

to find a greater purpose, a greater plan for her day.

Many things left undone and many thoughts left unsaid

while my fingers and metaphoric mind continue their dance.

I should quiet the lyrical melody that keeps my Dell humming and

puts me in a temporary trance.

What is the point of blending words, rhythm, and rhyme?

After all, it’s music that only I can hear, a song that is only mine.

Instead of clicking the black keys and making words appear

I should slip on gloves and to my garden, start tending.

When I am done with that chore,

I should grab the mop and start scrubbing my floor.

If I start now, I will still have time to fold socks

before preparing dinner, with fresh veggies I must chop.

Those tasks, and more, like saving the world,

have a greater purpose, a greater plan for my day.

Much greater than the frivolous lines filling up this page.

Before I save the world,

I will grab those gloves, and that mop,

but first, just a few more lines I must type.

Because, I can’t stop the words from spilling out.

So, for now I will let the melody play and the words escape.

Words that have learned how to dance

over and around the shoulds and can’ts.

And that is how this pointless poet prefers it to be,

because long after our gardens die,

our floors need replacing,

and our socks need mending,

the world will still need saving.

So poets, let the quiet melodies continue,

the spilling of words.

Because frivolous lines, like a fleeting canvas,

will endure.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my reflective poem with a playful twist. I hope that your week has had a few unexpected (and delightful) moments. Have an inspired weekend! Michele

If you are receiving my blog through email, thank you for taking the time to read my words and glance at my photos. For optimal viewing, consider going directly to the web @ https://myinspiredlife.org/blog-feed/ for each post.

50 Life Stories” update: I am writing my way through Story #41. I am so close to my goal! Maybe unrealistic, but I am pushing to finish Story 50 by Valentine’s Day. ❤️

Picture 1: View from a cabin at Lake Havasu State Park, Arizona Picture 2: Lake Havasu State Park, Arizona Picture 3: High Street Shopping Center, Phoenix, Arizona

Copyright © 2020 Michele Lee Sefton. All Rights Reserved.

A Body that Transcends

Her body holds secrets
that I can only hear
if I sink into the liquid,
and let her draw me near,
as her ancient wisdom
soothes, washes, and transcends
time, thought, and truths.
In the murkiness, I suspend
my frame and my beliefs
about what is and what should be
and simply allow her body
to support and carry me.
Just breathe, there is nothing to fear.
She carries and protects the secrets
of all that is, was, and will be,
surely, she can do the same for me.

Gliding Across Glass

I learned at any early age that what first appears as an insurmountable and tortuous task, can turn into one of my greatest joys. I learned this when I was about eight years old and I was faced with learning something that seemed impossible to master. The seemingly impossible task required me to submerge in cold dark lake water, struggle with a life jacket that was riding above my ears, keep my feet in skies that pointed in every direction except the desired one – toward the throttling boat, and wrap my small fingers around the bouncing handles found at the end of a long rope. I needed to manage these tasks while bobbing alone, far from the safety of our boat. Each failed attempt to stand up on those skies meant I had to watch our boat, driven by my father, pass my way without stopping. A castaway, unable to call for help, I once again watched the long white tail trailing behind our boat approach my outstretched arms. My task was to grab the rope, before the boat circled behind me. If I missed grabbing my lifeline, the boat idled while I swam awkwardly to the end of the tail. Handles secure, the boat would continue its journey, back to where it began, and the stretched long rope created a taut straight line from me to them. Not only did the tight rope create the shortest distance between me and my family, it reduced the slack that can cause a sudden jolt and probable tumble after the propulsion catches up with the paused skier.

Another failed attempt and a rope burn around my pointer finger would surely land me a seat in the dry warm boat. Sadly, it did not. Apparently, my pleading and tears were drowned by the waves. My father would not let me back in the boat until I stood up on those skies. I knew those words carried weight, and I would need to lift my own out of the water if I wanted to feel dry land again.

I yelled, “Hit it,” as I had been instructed to do and finally, sitting back, my posture secure, determined, I was able to hold on to the split handles long enough to allow the engine to pull me up and out of the water. I did it! I can still feel the wind on my face, and the sound of the water splashing off me, as the motor’s speed instantly changed me from a floating fish form back into an upright mammal, only now, I did what primates are not naturally designed to do; I was gliding across water.  

I wanted nothing more in those moments of failed ski starts to crawl back into the boat. I am glad I did not get my way. Learning to water ski as a young person gave me the greatest gifts of my childhood and allowed me to experience profound freedom and joy. I have many fond memories of skiing across Arizona lakes: the revved engine when I yelled, “hit it,” feeling the spray from my ski as I leaned closer to the water, the freedom of gliding across the water, the friendly hellos from other boaters as they noticed the small slalom skier passing by, skiing alongside my brother, watching my parents ski, the pop of the vibrating red flag when a skier went down, the smacking sound made when the waves and the boat crashed into each other, and skiing through canyons that amplified sight and sound.

I enjoyed gliding across a smooth glass-top lake, that could be found on a quiet and calm weekday. Gliding across glass was an exhilarating experience, both the feel of the smooth water under my ski, and the look of the surface as I cut across. Calm water was a gift, but I did not mind a few waves now and then to add interest and challenge. My two-ski start was quickly replaced with a slalom ski that allowed me to maneuver outside of the wake, from right to left, and left to right. I learned how to ride the ridge of the wake as it propelled me outside of its boundaries, and I became skilled at leaning sideways, close to the water before leaning back and jetting across the wake to do the same on the other side. My difficult ski start was replaced with the strength and skills that allowed me to balance gracefully on one ski and stay on top of the water for longer periods. I also learned how to motion to go faster, which I often did during my adventurous youth. My ski moments were not completely void of fear – I did experience it from time to time. Fear surfaced if a large boat sped by, because that meant large waves would follow, or if I sat too long bobbing alone in the water before our boat made its way back to me. My family worked well as a team during these moments. My mom or dad drove the boat, and one of us was always on the lookout for a downed skier, flag ready. The last time I skied, my daughter, who was young at the time, saw me fall and somersault across the water. When I climbed back in the boat she was upset and crying; she was worried about her mom. I was fine, not even a scratch. I was better than fine.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my poem about the transcendent power of swimming in a body of water and my story about learning to water ski. I hope that you are finding joy and adventure in your own life. Have an inspired weekend! Michele

If you are receiving my blog through email, thank you for taking the time to read my words and glance at my photos. For optimal viewing, consider going directly to the web @ https://myinspiredlife.org/blog-feed/ for each post.

Picture 1: View from a boat, Saguaro Lake, Arizona Picture 2: Lake Pleasant, Arizona Picture 3: Lake Pleasant, Arizona Picture 4: One of 27 replica lighthouses along Lake Havasu, Lake Havasu City, Arizona

Copyright © 2020 Michele Lee Sefton. All Rights Reserved.

In Balance and Beauty, I want to Believe

Symmetry and perfect vision are writing themes that began my year –

represented by four numbers that appeared, when 2019 rang a final chime.

Four numbers, marking a new decade, that I have written several times.

I write the first two familiar digits, then my fingers hesitate.

Holding my pen, or resting on keys, my fingers wait.

Waiting for a signal for the number that should come next …

concentration complete, I can now duplicate the pair.

Did my fingers stutter, did I accidentally repeat?

No, these are the numbers, two zero two zero, twenty twenty –  

a balanced beginning, simplistically revealing harmonious things.

I ponder that this balanced theme may be just a dream –

a fabrication of my mind.

My desired theme, may actually be

a mislabeled container that doesn’t reveal what is inside.

“Numbers never lie,” or so they say, but these digits

are deceptive; they made me want to believe.

That our 365 days, plus one leap,

would be a path of perfect vision and symmetry.

But I only need to click on the remote, or open a feed,

and see that these themes do not exist in everyone’s reality.

Blurred vision and imbalance are what I see,

when missiles are launched at the enemy,

and fires rage as residents and animals attempt to flee.

Marking the year, the passing of seasons,

the balanced digits are only that, not a universal theme.

If perfect balance was achieved, what a blessing it would be,

but for now, my paradigm exists only in the land of make-believe.

Realizing that balance can never survive,

when the goal is to destroy or devour,

as powerful governments, and raging fires try.

I walked away from my keyboard and my screens,

and set out to find another model of symmetry.

Delighted, I found it under me, around me, and above me.

Nature restored my hope in symmetry, if not humanity.

I stood in awe of her grandeur, her balanced harmony.

Diverse plants and animals coexisting, taking only what they need.

Not caring about the passing of a year, or an attached theme.

Nature – symmetry beautifully designed,

if we leave her alone and allow her to thrive.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my poem about seeking balance, beauty, and symmetry. I hope that you are finding balance and beauty in your world.

If you are receiving my blog through email, thank you for taking the time to read my words and glance at my photos. For optimal viewing, consider going directly to the web @ https://myinspiredlife.org/blog-feed/ for each post. Have an inspired weekend! Michele

Picture 1: Agave Plant, Desert Botanical Garden Picture 2: Charred tree, Havasu Riviera State Park, Arizona Picture 3: Saguaro Skeleton, Desert Botanical Garden Picture 4: Palo Verde, Desert Botanical Garden Picture 5: Small Barrel Cactus, Desert Botanical Garden Picture 6: Hiking Calderwood Butte Trail, Peoria, Arizona

Copyright © 2020 Michele Lee Sefton. All Rights Reserved.

Ten Gifts I Gladly Give to You

If you are celebrating the season,

your days have been packed with efforts of pleasing.

In less than 100 hours,

your hustle and consideration will be shared.

Gifts will be exchanged,

and you can finally collapse on a chair.

Before you head out to tackle last-minute holiday tasks,

I have but one favor to ask …

Grab something warm to nurture your bones,

then scroll through ten of my inspired photos.

Ten photos from 2019, along with twenty lines –

gifts I gladly give to you during this holiday time.

Please know how much you matter.

You are more cherished than anything hidden under shiny wrapper.

Paddle Fest on Lake Pleasant comes only once a year.

This shot is lovely, but the view from a board is better than the pier.

Granville Island in Vancouver was a quick ferry ride away.

Shops, art galleries, a park, a brewery, and a market that made us want to stay.

The drive from Eugene took some time, but the Cape Perpetua Overlook in Oregon was sublime.

After spending time with sea lions on the coast, we were famished and stopped to eat.

Watching the sunset beyond the Florence Siuslaw River Bridge made our day complete.

This majestic cactus at Desert Botanical Garden appears worn and spikey.

But every angle reveals a plant that is interesting and thriving.

A tiny winged creature busy pollinating; she was not concerned about me.

Thank goodness, because I have an allergy.

The Granite Dells that surround Lake Watson emanate a sacred presence.

Those who visit are often transformed by their mystical influence.

A replenishing walk along the water’s edge at Dead Horse Lake.

A flock of birds in the sky and Jerome, a town on the hill, too far for my lens to take.

Our view from a cabin at Lake Havasu State Park.

Gentle waves, the setting sun, and the moon, in the shape of an arc.

A challenging 8.2 mile hike in the Tortolita Mountains in Marana took longer than expected.

Nothing happened and we didn’t get lost. We just couldn’t stop taking pictures of the beautiful landscape that made us feel refreshed and uplifted.

Thank you for stopping by and glancing through ten holiday gifts I gladly give to you. I hope that your weekend isn’t too stressful and that you have some time to relax and enjoy the season with your loves.

If you are receiving my blog through email, thank you for taking the time to read my words and glance at my photos. For optimal viewing, consider going directly to the web @ https://myinspiredlife.org/blog-feed/ for each post. Have an inspired weekend! Michele

Copyright © 2019 Michele Lee Sefton. All Rights Reserved.

'Tis the Season for Tongue in Cheek

A holiday inspired poem is what I set out to write and sarcastic wit is what transpired. The final product, as you will see, is designed in the shape of a tree. Christmas Spirit highlighted down the left side – a feeling I hope this post helps to provide.

This photo was taken in Bisbee, Arizona. Bisbee, a mining community, is located in the Mule Mountains of southeast Arizona. I call Bisbee a Christmas card town, because when approaching the town, and gazing down the mountain, the setting looks like a picturesque holiday card. If you’ve never been, it is worth the drive. The city is also becoming a vibrant art and food destination. Additional photo of Bisbee below.

Childlike  

hope and wonder  

return to us when we see

incandescent lights sparkle in the street.

Saint Nicholas in every store, where we pay to sit on his knee.

Tinsel sparkles in our eyes as we drink eggnog spiked with rum.   

Merriment at work, tacky gifts exchanged, strangers become chums.

Anticipation for that perfect gift, if not there is always a substitution.

Scrumptious sweets that plump our cheeks and usher in resolutions.

Strolling in the daylight, reveals a ten-foot reindeer flattened to a dime.

Posing in an ugly sweater that was once discarded, now ordered online.

In a quiet moment we

reflect on the season.

It’s not about Prime.

Tis about the Divine.

The Tumbleweed Christmas Tree in Chandler, Arizona (yes, it’s made out of tumbleweeds). The 30-foot tree has been a Chandler tradition since 1957. I visited the tree as a youngster and it looked like a 30-story building then.

My favorite cake to make during December is the Chocolate ‘Tato Cake. The recipe calls for potato flakes and sour cream. Sounds weird, but it is a delicious combination when mixed with chocolate. I wish I could share a piece with each of you. It is simple, sweet, and oh, so smooth. Email me at mlsefton@gmail.com if you’d like the recipe.

Thank you for stopping by and sharing some holiday humor with me. I hope your December is off to a healthy and happy start. If you are receiving my blog through email, thank you for taking the time to read my words and glance at my photos. For optimum viewing, consider going directly to the web @ https://myinspiredlife.org/blog-feed/ for each post. Have an inspired weekend! Michele

This photo was taken at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, Arizona, during the Las Noches De Las Luminarias event. The garden features talented musicians, 8,000 luminaria bags, glowing creatures (Wild Rising), and countless holiday lights during this festive event. Our visit included nonstop rain, but that just made the desert plants smell sweeter! Festive DBG video below. Apologies in advance for whatever video thumbnails show up after mine. My freebie Vimeo account does not let me control that. 😉

Downtown Bisbee in the evening hours. It does get cold, so bring a jacket! Excuse my cell phone photo. 🙂
My clip of Mariachi Pasion performing at the Desert Botanical Garden is too short. Need more music from these amazing ladies? More videos can be found on their site. http://www.mariachipasion.com/
Enjoy!

© 2019 Michele Lee Sefton. All Rights Reserved.

Discovering the Great in the Outdoors

Our favorite recreational activity is spending time in the great outdoors.

Finally reaching a sweet spot, we are now primed to head out and explore.

My lover of parks and I perfecting what we pack in the car, before traveling north, south, east, or west.

Discovering barely worn trails, both near and far, is always our favored quest, and visiting an Arizona State Parks site makes us feel doubly blessed.

Our recent visits to several Arizona State Parks have been invigorating, liberating, and breathtaking, but …

I have not always experienced the great in the outdoors.

I did not enjoy camping and fishing as a kid. Especially when my dad woke us up hours before the sun to “beat the traffic.” This idea strikes me as hilarious, since the traffic that happened during my youth, was nothing compared to the never ceasing traffic we now see on our congested streets and freeways. But, for the man who loved to fish, who was still the boy from Iowa, the lake was best experienced in the calm quiet of the still morning; a stolen hour or two before other boaters caught up with him. I would rather have continued enjoying the quiet of my warm bed, but as a child my opinions were often overruled. So, frazzled and grumpy, I dragged myself into whatever truck we had at the time. Sometimes I would climb into the cabin of the truck and other times I would climb into the camper. If in the camper, my brother and I would play cards, or board games, while traveling to our lake destination, and with one unexpected bump on the highway, our cards or game pieces were scattered in the air while we were tossed around, like two exploding kernels in a hot kettle.

Other times we did not have the luxury of a cab or camper. We were just two dusty smelly crispy lake kids bouncing around in the back of our truck. I was always trying to hide from the scorching sun, usually under a blanket or anything else I could crawl under and hang onto. My brother didn’t seem to mind the heat as much as I did, but his little leathered nose paid the price for overexposure. During the days before sunblock was an outdoor staple, it seems my brother had a peeling nose that is forever captured in just about every family and elementary school picture.  

Lake Havasu State Park, near Sunset Trail

The tortuous sun is what I most despised about our camping trips. I would hide away in any shady spot I could find on our bass boat, usually under the steering wheel when my parents were fishing. Waiting desperately for any respite of shade, my young grumpy self, turned into I am bored out of my mind self. Along with hiding from the relentless rays, we were discouraged from talking while on the boat. OK, we weren’t allowed to talk – we might scare the fish away. Maybe it was a plausible scenario, that two youngsters quietly talking could chase off fish swimming depths beneath our boat and ruin our chance at a fresh fish dinner. As an adult, I now believe that my dad just wanted quiet. I suppose I understand.    

Lake Havasu State Park, near cabins

The baking sun and a boring bass boat are the two things that made me want to hide under the covers when our parents began calling us out of bed, but there were happy moments to be had on the way to and at the lake. Most of those happy moments show up as memory highlights from our family outings, versus a my favorite camping story, with a defined beginning, middle, and end. Sometimes just the four of us went to the lake, and other times we joined up with my parents’ friends, or larger groups of people during fishing tournaments.

Saguaro Lake, Maricopa County, AZ (Four Peaks, part of the Mazatzal Mountains, featured in background)

If I could splice all the happy memories together, I would end up with a camping trip that begins something like this:  With our windows down we traveled down Bush Highway that led to one of the many lakes northeast of the valley. Going up and down the curvy stretch felt more like a rollercoaster than a road. We listened to songs like, “Bye-Bye Miss American Pie” and singers like, Willie Nelson on an 8-track cassette, that my dad turned down occasionally so that he could talk on his CB Radio. Sometimes he would even let us click and speak. We said silly things like, 10-4 good buddy to truckers passing by. As we passed the green spikey sentinels standing guard several steps off the road and up the hill, my mom and I would talk about what life might have been like for the Native Americans and early settlers who lived and traversed through the region, before dams were built and lakes were created. Driving and talking until a turn in the road revealed the lake below – the crystal blue water that reflected the sky and called my parents time and time again. We found our campsite, a cove, and began the setting up camp process. My brother and I would stand idly by or entertain ourselves while my parents partnered to back the boat into the lake. One of them in the truck and the other in the boat, working together to set the boat free. With that task completed, we would find the perfect camp spot and begin unpacking necessities for the weekend:  a stove, a lantern, a tent, sleeping bags, coolers, chairs, and fishing gear. Once organized our weekend adventures began.

I remember hearing the morning melody of mourning doves and other desert birds, before unzipping my tent, and the calm lake that looked like blue glass, before jets stirred the water. I remember campfires and the stars at night; both seemed more grandiose than they do now. Although still beautiful, as an adult, fires seem smaller and the stars seem fewer.

I remember learning:  Learning to put a hook through a squirmy worm, learning to cast and reel, learning to watch for signs that fish might be biting, learning to wait quietly, learning to filet a fish with a knife I never would have been allowed to use at home, learning to read a depth-finder, learning to swim, learning to slalom ski and realizing this sport made the torturous heat and the endless waiting worthwhile, and learning to watch vigilantly when others were skiing, ready to pop up the red flag when a skier went down.

Lake Havasu, near London Bridge

I remember watching my parents cook breakfast on the camping stove. The fresh open air amplified the sound of the simmering coffee, the sizzling sausage, and the bubbling eggs. An aroma carried along by the morning breezes that would rouse the last of the sleepy campers. I remember devouring what my dad called, Poor Man’s Lobster (bite size bass boiled in water and beer, dipped in melted butter). Delicious. I remember trying Coors in a gold can for the first and last time. Disgusting.     

Although I cannot recall a favorite camping trip story, there were some standout hilarious moments that did not seem so at the time. Laughter is sometimes a delayed dish, needing time and perspective to simmer.    

Funny camping moment #1: We were camping in a cove and my parents were fishing nearby in the boat, while my brother and I were back at the campsite. I ventured off alone to use the restroom (i.e. a large tree I could hide behind). While there, minding my own, I mean, taking care of my business, I was surrounded by about half a dozen grazing cattle, who were chomping their way toward me and staring at this strange little creature crouched by a tree. Being a bit compromised, I could not move, but I could scream. That scream echoed through the canyon and was more of a distress signal than any red flare I could have fired. When my parents found me, they were out of breath from sprinting to my rescue, but they did manage to laugh after they realized the reason behind the scream.

Funny camping moment #2:  Once again, my parents were fishing in the nearby cove while my brother and I were back at the campsite. The sun had set, and we were in the camper. I was probably reading a book and my brother was probably building something or taking something apart. At least we were doing those things until noises outside the camper startled us. We jumped onto the raised mattress and terrified, we began to quietly conjecture about what might be making the skin-crawling scratching noises outside of the camper. Frozen, we looked at each other with frightened eyes, imagining what creature of the night was going to bust through the door and drag us off never to be seen again. This scene lasted a lifetime, until our parents made it back to the camper. Huddled in the top of camper, we explained that something was outside, scratching its way in. The “something” was a tree branch resting on the camper, that was moving back and forth in the wind.    

I have other funny camping moments and not so funny camping moments, but I will save those for another time.   

Did I say I hated camping and fishing as a kid? I suppose being woken up before the sun to beat the traffic and find the perfect cove wasn’t so bad.

Buckskin Mountain State Park

Thank you for stopping by and for traveling with me through a few Arizona State Parks and down memory lane. If you are receiving my blog through email, thank you for taking the time to follow and read my blog. For optimum viewing, consider going directly to the web @ https://myinspiredlife.org/blog-feed/ for each post. Have an inspired weekend and enjoy the great outdoors! Michele

This post is dedicated to all the parents who take their kids camping, fishing, boating, hiking, and exploring in the Great Outdoors. Keep doing it, even if your kids grumble and complain. 😉

Photo of my dad doing what he loved, a few years before he passed.

© 2019 Michele Lee Sefton. All Rights Reserved.