Bridget Purdome

I’m raking brown oak leaves on an early fall day watching the green yard emerge from below scattered with acorns and welcoming the open spaces. Used to working hard and staying busy,I’m tempted to yell to the old oak“Bring it on! Release more leaves!I can handle a heavier load!” The yard gently stops me inviting […]

I started my daily “woo” practice in anticipation of a long road trip with my 28-year-old. I knew that Ciaran was already fatigued from driving from Vancouver to Chicago, that they were feeling the stress of a big move and a new job, and that they may not appreciate my early morning enthusiasm. I was

As I say good-byeto the small, wooded condowith its speckled fawnsand golf cart traffic,moments of solitude and loud family gatheringsI’m keenly awareof my Dad’s Spiritclanging through the wind chimes. As I walk the lake pathone last timeI begin to realizewhy I’m here. This.This lapping lake.This pale blue sky.This sense of onenesswith it all.This deep knowing

Pulling weeds.Clipping dry stems.Creating space in the garden. Opening up space in me. To play.To breathe.To be. What is helping you to “be” this summer? Copyright (c) 2023, Bridget Purdome, ThePearlDivers.com. All rights reserved.

It wasn’t on our list of “don’t miss” stops along the Icefield Parkway in Banff National Park. And with a name like, “Herbert,” I didn’t have high expectations. I just needed to stretch my legs with a short walk to the lake. Now, don’t get me wrong – I have nothing against all of you

Your vision is okay for driving,” the eye doctor said. “Do you want to see more clearly?” Hmmm…do I? Do I want to see the tiny red buds on spring trees? The fine features of robins, cardinals and blackbirds? The hands on the clock of a distant church? (Is there really a clock on that

Last spring, I had a startling sense of clarity after engaging in the simple contemplative practice of picking up sticks. A year later, I returned to the site of this epiphany. What happened? I picked up sticks. Pretty anticlimactic, huh? On the surface, yes. I walked, scanned the yard, picked up sticks, carried them to

Aunt Justine was known for writing eulogies for family and friends, so I wasn’t too surprised that she wrote part of her own: Hello, my name is Justine Leonard. For most of my working career, I was a ghost writer, the voice and second banana for many of Milwaukee’s movers and shakers. To drop a

I remember my first Valentine’s Day as a newlywed; this was more than thirty years ago. I had to travel for business that week, but my return flight was the afternoon of February 14th, so my husband, Mark, who loves to cook, was planning a special fondue dinner. As I flew back to Chicago, the

I stepped out of my car, scanned the front yard and breathed. I sensed that the yard was breathing with me. When I left the retreat house last fall, the lawn was completely covered in leaves. I had tried to clear them during my stay, but the more I raked, the more the leaves came