Decades ago, a friend gave me a bookmark that read: “Stretch yourself for greatness and for height.” (George Chapman, perhaps?)

Lately I’ve been stretching myself. I’m not taller. And I think this stretching means I have more deadlines.

Which means I’m tired.

I’m writing this blog before I turn to more work. Prepping for the last day of teaching this fall. Starting two stories that are due way too soon. Cleaning my desk. Picking up Liz. Practicing patience while she does hours of homework, at her own pace: slowly. Helping her when she needs it.

S-t-r-e-t-c-h.

I just finished writing a piece on creating good mental health practices. So helpful. So good to know when I stretch myself, I am growing. And I need breaks. More breaks than I allow myself.

Thank goodness I have a dog. And a funny husband and interesting daughters. That I have to cook for them and then as I cook, I start to breathe deeper and eat peppers and snack on chips.

I have no cohesive thoughts today. All of those went into the three articles I wrote for work during the last three days. Shall I compliment myself?  I wrote a feature-length article, start to finish, in under two weeks. And I think it’s good. About a topic I am passionate about: mental health practices.

Stretching ourselves calls for down-time, lovely comfort from our loves, puzzle making and cheese eating. Thank goodness Thanksgiving is next week.

See you tomorrow.