Why Your Bra Doesn't Fit & How To Fix That

If you missed my interview with bra coach Ali Cudby (part one, part two), then you probably didn't hear about her new book, Busted! The FabFoundations Guide To Bras That Fit, Flatter and Feel Fantastic -- or heard that there's a contest to win signed copies of the book. Well, now you know. *wink*

Today's the last day to enter.

"I miss my mother’s body."

Because I refuse to shy-away from honest sex talk -- even if it's not "sex ed" -- I have to share with you this lovely piece on a woman remembering her mother, titled Musings on curvitude -- even if it's on an 'adult site'. You've now been warned; but don't summarily reject the link, because it's worth it.

Magic

When I was in grade school, I used to walk to & from school through a woods -- my magical woods.

I knew every tree, fallen and standing; how to read every dappled patch of sunlight for both time and weather; what every animal and bird cry meant, as well as how to follow their tracks and stand back far and quiet enough to avoid upsetting them so I could watch. All the self-taught knowledge of a girl who spent her time there. (Yes, this woods also contains the creek I wrote about.)

Every day spent in those woods was magical, but one day, I stumbled into something I'd never seen before or since. None of the nature books I lugged home on my horse/bike had even prepared me to conceive of such a thing -- not that book reading ever could. Not even photos or video can, really.

I must have about 7 or 8, and wandering about as usual in the woods. I turned down a path, heading for a spot to just sit in when suddenly I was in a flurry of orange & black fluttering petal-wings which caressed and kissed...

Monarch butterflies.

They were not panicked, startled or thrashing; they were welcoming.

Hundreds of them, swirling about in the air. And hundreds more covering the trees and brush, like a living, breathing wall, before me.

I don't know how long I stood there. Each minute was as long as eternity -- and yet not long enough.

I don't recall wondering what it was, what it meant or what the monarchs might be doing; I just remember being filled with a sense of awe -- and blessed to be part of whatever the celebration was. And I knew it was a celebration. They told me so.

I don't think I've ever felt so foreign yet accepted as that afternoon under the dancing, snowing, flutter-falling butterflies.

Later I learned this was part of the great monarch migration. While that knowledge made sense, it neither diminished the spectacle I had been graciously allowed to witness, nor added to it. It simply was, and I had been, for whatever reason, allowed to have the communion, the experience.

I don't recall ever speaking to anyone of it. I'm not sure why not... Perhaps it was equal parts keeping a secret gift that had been given to my heart & the fact that no one really wanted to hear the loner-girl's (continual) stories about the woods.

But I've never forgotten that feeling -- though I'd gladly have it again, just to be sure it has not faded over time.

So reading that Butterflies Are On The Brink, that the intense deforestation in Mexico could ruin the mysterious & marvelous 3,000-mile migration of the monarch butterfly, my heart is saddened today.

"To lose something like this migration is to diminish all of us," said Chip Taylor, KU professor of ecology and evolutionary biology. "It's so truly spectacular, one of the awe-inspiring phenomena that nature presents to us. There is no way to describe the sight of 25 million monarchs per acre -- or the sensation of standing in a snowstorm of orange as the butterflies cascade off the fir trees."

Twenty-five million? Even having seen my hundreds (possibly thousands -- who could or would stop to count?), I cannot really imagine it...

At the link you can see more images; but I swear to you, they do not do the monarchs justice.

Today, my wish for you is to be able to witness such a thing.

My wish for the world is that the monarch survive so that our children & future generations may too.

Hailey & Alexander's Hearts

I received the sweetest email today along with the blog award shown here. It's from a beautiful young lady named Haily:

Hi. My name is Hailey and I'm 12 years old. I have a blog in memory of my brother who passed away in 2006 from a heart defect. I was looking online at other blogs and found yours and I would like to give you my blog award for having a blog with heart!

My blog is for the purpose of reaching out and helping children who have a sibling who has special needs or who has died. I do random acts of kindness in my brothers memory.

Attached to this email is the award if you want to put it on your blog and link it to mine. Also, please give this award to 5 blogs that YOU think have heart!

The note put tears in my eyes; but once I visited her website, Alexander's Heart, I couldn't stop crying. Such a sad loss, yes; but what a beautiful spirit in Hailey -- and her supportive family.

I haven't stopped crying yet, but when I do I shall properly add the award to the sidebar and pass the award on, as instructed.

For now, I'm just going to let myself feel all these things which are making me cry: sadness, hope, beauty...

But most of all I feel pride in this 12 year old girl who does and writes such wonderfully moving things.

I do not know her & therefore cannot claim to have had any part in the formation of her wonderful spirit; but somehow I am proud of her just the same. And I take great comfort in knowing that we are in & of the same world.

Blessings to you & yours, Hailey.

Asha's "Then & Now"

A work by Asha Anderson, found at her blog, Synesis. Click to read it all clearly; it's beautiful.