Bridget Purdome

Why are you waiting forthe sun to setthe suffering to enda new season to emerge?Isn’t it all right hereright now?Beauty.Peace.Joy. Copyright (c) 2022, Bridget Purdome, ThePearlDivers.com. All rights reserved.

If only I were a better meditator, I’d be more disciplined about sticking to a consistent schedule. If only I were a better meditator, I wouldn’t be so easily distracted by everything going on around me and within me. If only I were a better meditator, I would seamlessly integrate the fruits of my morning

No better way to heal thanclearing away brushdigging into dark soilsometimes hitting rocksor claynestling in bulbs andblanketing with dirtknowing that they all don’thave the same chanceto survive andthriveyet still hoping for andnourishing each one.And when the grief returnshow does one respond?By planting gladiolus. In memory of two beautiful women, Marsha and Angela.   Copyright (c)

My heart sank as I spotted the flashing light behind me. This isn’t how I had imagined starting my getaway weekend to a small, lake town. I pulled over, reached into my backpack and located my wallet and license. Then, I fumbled through my glove compartment, pulled out a stack of papers, and flipped through

On an unseasonably early spring day, I engaged in a simple ritual – picking up sticks. While the retreat house lawn needed a good clean-up, it certainly didn’t need me. At the pace I was moving, autumn would arrive before the yard was clear of branches. This was more about what I was needing –

I barely knew him, and yet, every Christmas, he reminded me, “You are special.” The third of four children, all born in the span of just 6 years, it was impossible to get any individual attention except from this mysterious and thoughtful man. On Christmas day, the Milwaukee relatives would arrive laden with packages for

“This is the time to be slow. Lie low to the wall. Until the bitter winter passes.” – John O’Donohue It’s time to be slowThe old oak modelsReleasing its leavesJust one at a time. It’s time to be slowThe wet logs cryResisting all attemptsTo ignite into bonfire. It’s time to be slowThe inner voice whispersEncouraging

The Pool. I have been returning to the swimming pool of my childhood this summer as it is only a couple miles from my Mom’s nursing home. “Rec” pool has changed very little in the last 40 years. Even the old popcorn popper in the concession stand looks like it has never been replaced. As

My daughter scanned me from head to toe, as we prepared for a walk in the city. “With your cap, backpack, water bottle, and running shoes, you dress like a junior camper heading off to summer camp!” There is nothing like a fashion critique from a 22-year-old. Hey – maybe I like being a junior

The chain on my bike derailed. Ten miles from home, this could have been a crisis. No worries! I pulled my phone out of my backpack and googled, “bike shop near me.” The closest one was a short walk away. The helpful mechanic did a quick derailleur adjustment, and I was back on my way.