Registration is now at capacity and closed for this session of Hopscotch Chronicles.
As a young child I remember the ease of having slow mornings, bike rides on house-lined streets and no particular place to go; blue skies, spending time in the sun and the field of tall grasses behind my home.
It was a time for mud pies and hobbies and barefoot expeditions. Days-end marked by leaving my rock and stick collections, along with grass-tied bouquets of wild flowers, on the wire spool table at the corner of our covered patio.
I resist uprooting because, well, I am wildly optimistic. I see possible value in almost anything and everything … And yet, I also believe:
My journal-planners tether me gently, serving as a means of tracking my start lines as well as my progress. Some entries are unpublished and read only by me; some entries are shared with women with whom I share community, and others shared publicly.