Yenneagram

09/04/2026

“Abundance” was the card I drew in meditation this morning. Today’s abundances thus far:

1) I was surprised to run into one of my yogi regulars at a funeral. We had no idea we shared this beloved person in common. It was a celebration of a long life well-lived. The deceased was a neighbor. Me, Tony, and our whole street showed up.

2) At the same funeral, a friend gave me a “gift from the Universe”: A single beaded earring she found on the street weeks ago after I told her about how my mom had gifted me a beaded bracelet after her death.

3) An East Coast Enneagram friend whom I don’t even know very well sent me an amazing gift because the angry yoga bunny reminded her of my Yenneagram poses. The poetry book is a bonus, also from her.

4) A photo shoot had me outdoors on campus today, and it happened to end just as my dear friend’s spouse began his presentation inside. It was powerfully inspiring, and one of my photos was even included! It gave me chills to see it, because I remember showing up to a protest, seeing Leon’s work, and immediately sensing the power of it. I simply documented his work speaking.

5) My friend Rachel offered me 2 fair tickets (which I couldn’t take and are already spoken for, though it was difficult to say no).

The day isn’t even over yet, but I am feeling abundantly blessed.

Thanks to all who showed up with gifts, even if you didn’t know it: Hey-Jin Kong Pádraig Ó Tuama Caroline Yang LoveHopeRise Leon & Kristin & Amy & our neighbors

09/04/2026

When fair traffic slows down the commute, Minnesotans take advantage of it. 👍🏽

09/02/2026

08/31/2026

The day after Tony and I hit the fair with 155,183 other people, Luna and I spent some time recharging with the monarchs in relative solitude.

08/30/2026

I still have the super-simple first cyanotypes I ever did in college. Blues have always called my name. Michelle Westmark Wingard takes the process to a whole new level with myriad textures and layers. I learned so much during her opening talk tonight at Form + Content Gallery. And I love that she gives us access to handle some of her pieces and receive a special message. I felt like I was drawing a tarot card. 🪄 It’s a great show—check it out! Aug. 6 through September 12

08/29/2026

So fun to be a reject with Rachel Mayer tonight!
The opening of the State Fair Rejects art show was packed!

08/29/2026

This piece by artist Danny Saathoff is powerful. The photographed scene is where Renée Good was murdered. It includes whistles of resistance, stuffed animal memorials, and block letters that alternately rotate to spell out her last words: “I’m not mad at you,” and the last words spoken to her, calling her “a f&!king b$!ch.” (spelled out fully & clearly) It’s in the State Fair Rejects show now at Douglas Flanders & Associates in Edina. I had to post this separately and somberly.

08/29/2026

Last week Tony told me I don’t laugh when we’re at home anymore. I said I’d noticed, too, and that because it took all of my energy to simply BE out in the world these days, I had nothing left for home. I didn’t like it either, and I already had a doctor appt on the books to talk hormones.

This week, days after starting HRT, I found myself making fun of Tony (lovingly) and then laughing to the point of tears. He wasn’t laughing quite so hard, but he enjoyed seeing me crack myself up.

It can be hard to determine what is grief and what is hormonal imbalance. As a 7, I realized the difference when, half a year after loss, everything in my life was so wonderful and I felt so secure, yet I couldn’t get excited about anything anymore. I’m sure it’s quite different for everyone, but that’s what pushed me to make a change. I’m so glad I did. And I’m so grateful that I can.

(A week ago I wouldn’t even have paused to photograph a heart in my red onion. 🫶🏼)

08/28/2026

These are not the best eclipse photos, but I wasn’t going for best, standing out in the backyard in my pjs and slippers and hand-holding a 70-200 with an extender. I post these as a memory of a lovely experience. Little white moths were flitting around my feet in the grass as the bright moonlight that was casting shadows slowly faded. I remembered a song my mom used to sing: “I see the moon, the moon sees me…” I cried and told her I love her and miss her. I also know she was so ready to leave. My eclipse night was a beautiful continuation of the gentle progression of grief, which includes celebration of deep love.