I've been working on a new rug. Gradually the three strands are plaited together. Three different colors and textures blended into a length of new design. Then the plaits are laced together to wind into an ever widening circle. The circle looks nothing like the individual braid. A finished rug is a surprise. Sometimes what you've planned, sometimes it is better.

Kind of like each day. You can start out knowing how you want the day to go. You've got the strands of your plans firmly in place. Then as the day goes on unplanned events take place. An unexpected kindness from a stranger. A helpful suggestion from a colleague. Loyalty from a friend. Unanticipated conversations. Suddenly the strands have taken new places. The pattern of the day has changed.

I can't see the final pattern of the days or weeks ahead just as I can't see a whole rug until it is done. But I've learned to trust the process. To take the strands of each day and create a beautiful part of my circle. The pattern is looking wonderful so far.

Part of the way I start each day is doing a word find puzzle. How typical of an "old lady", right? It does engage my mind, proves I can still think and, well, it's fun.

I see how fast I can complete the puzzle. I vary my strategy on finding the words. Should I look vertically, horizontally, or diagonally. Can I find them in the order they are listed in?Is it faster to look for certain letters first, i.e. Q, Z, W? Can I spot the words forward and backward? It's a daily mental challenge in under 10 minutes.

Sometimes I chuckle at this simple form of cognitive fun. But wait -- my daily life also depends upon some of these same skills. Completing a list of what needs to be done. Using creative ways to solve problems. Finding the important in the midst of lots of unimportant stuff. Utilizing creative methods to cope with repetitive tasks. Guess this "old lady" is pretty smart. Talk to you in a few days -- I've got some words to circle!

I've been busy making Valentine's Day hearts. Not paper ones. Mine are cloth, fit comfortably in the hand and are beautiful patterns of red, crimson and scarlet. Each one has a word written on it. Not just run of the mill Hallmark "Love" or "Faith" or "Hope". But more personal, evocative terms like ardor, devotion, conviction, surety, desire, promise. Because words matter.

The hearts look beautiful all together in a basket as I prepare for a sale. But as people look through them, thinking of a purchase for themselves or others, I hope to provoke some thought: Which of these words are descriptive of me? What word exactly conveys the level of love I want to express? How best do I describe the attributes of the one who receives a heart? Picking the right word is the essence of the gift.

​Because I believe that all we have experienced is written on our hearts. And the words are different for everyone. As people select their hearts I hope they find the perfect words to share how they really feel. Because all that you are is written on your heart. What's written on yours?

This week cancer took away a friend of mine. As I get older I am finding the nature of grief and sadness over death is beginning to change. Maybe it is because with each year that passes as a human it becomes more impossible to deny that life always comes to an end. Or perhaps I have learned from experience that the world will continue and I can adapt. Death is no longer a jarring incongruous interruption. It is part of the experience of life. And as with all the experiences of life, you choose what you take with you.

I will take with me these things that my friend taught me. She taught me that true kindness is easy to give. Her time with me was filled with gentle personal encouragement, cups of tea and shared reflections about life yet to come. She taught me how to continue to age gracefully. I saw her build a full life after becoming a widow, never lose her love of learning and actively enjoy nature and the beauty of the world. She taught me how to be a better person. And I am thankful.

Yes, my friend died this week. But she gave me many things that will cause me to remember her. The physical presence is gone but the good she did in me remains. It is silently added to my storehouse of what I choose to take with me. And I promise to use it well.