by Leisa A. Hammett | Jan 13, 2014 | Autism/Disability, Divorce, Grief & Loss, Midlife and Beyond, Motherhood, Nashville!
I know you are there. You see, bloggers don't know who specifically visits their blog, but most "blogging platforms" allow the owner to see where the visitors are coming from (Facebook links, Google searches, websites, etc.,) and at which categories site...
by Leisa A. Hammett | Dec 31, 2013 | All The Rest of Life, Art, Autism/Disability, Divorce, Grief & Loss, Midlife and Beyond, Motherhood, Spirituality
Today, these last hours of the year, feels sacred to me. I'm savoring moments of quiet and still–part of Winter's gift. And, I'm also looking at the gifts brought this past year and how I can continue to grow into the next. Below, I'm sharing...
by Leisa A. Hammett | Dec 23, 2013 | All The Rest of Life, Art, Midlife and Beyond, Spirituality, Technology/Blogging
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, Friends. Here's wishing you time to reflect and ponder. To walk. To eat something that satisfies. Plenty of time to be quiet, contemplative. To read a good book. To hug a loved one. To be creative. To savor joy in stillness....
by Leisa A. Hammett | Nov 25, 2013 | Art, Autism/Disability, Grief & Loss, Midlife and Beyond, Motherhood, Nashville!, Spirituality
Material "blessings" often tend to be the focus of our culture during this Thanksgiving season. True, some focus on the non-material: love, family, nature. Stretch with me to the next stepping stone here in the disAbility community: For some time, a few...
by Leisa A. Hammett | Nov 11, 2013 | All The Rest of Life, Autism/Disability, Grief & Loss, Midlife and Beyond, Motherhood, Spirituality
Day One. Day Two. Day…and so on. My Facebook feeds are peppered with friends "practicing gratitude," as they were last year. I'm intrigued by this public, intentional "practice" of gratitude during the launch of the winter season. When...
by Leisa A. Hammett | Nov 6, 2013 | Art, Midlife and Beyond, Nashville!, Spirituality
Sssshhh! Have you heard it? I did. Last week. On an evening walk. Our Mother is preparing for sleep. The chorus of crickets—the last hold outs–sang a lullabye, one last repeat performance from summer. The Maples outside my patio,...
