Stories

Another Tomorrow

November 5, 2025 By Allison

autumn scene and daybed

Dad died this week.

In our last exchange, he texted me a picture of the view from his bed at Kavanaugh House hospice. Des Moines’ fiery autumn woods served as the backdrop for the last day of his life, visiting with friends and family and watching one last game of football.

When his message came through, I was preparing dinner across the ocean. Peace washed over me. On the minimalist daybed under the picture window, his clothes laid folded and stacked, baseball cap posed on top of the tidy pile. A striped throw pillow rested against one end of the daybed. He was surrounded by beauty and order.

Dad captioned the photo, “New pic. Another tomorrow.” I’m still chewing on the delicious ambiguity of his words. Did he intend to send a picture the following day? Was he stating an intention to go on living?

Of course, Dad knew his time was short. He had faced health struggles for many years and had given much thought to his relationships and his legacy. Blessedly, his last day brought optimism and lightness. Lying in bed, perhaps in his final solitary moments, he noted the gentle brilliance of the scene and snapped a picture. Then, he thought to share it with me.

As I begin to grieve this loss from afar, my father’s message buoys me. His missive is my poetic balm in the emptiness I feel. I return to it incessantly and hold it at my heart center. In those trying weeks leading to his death, my heroic siblings comforted him and advocated for him. They secured a beautiful space in which he felt safe to finally let go. He peacefully moved on to another tomorrow.

Obituary for Bernard Joseph Connolly, Jr.

I Published a Piece of Fiction!

July 25, 2025 By Allison

I’ve been quiet in this space the last year as other creative projects percolated. This morning, I was delighted to learn that a piece of my very short fiction was accepted for publication in an online journal called The Ekphrastic Review. Twice per month, the journal runs a challenge and publishes a selection of the entries. My story An Offering is amongst those chosen for the most recent challenge. To read it, click here and scroll down to the fourth piece from the bottom of the page.

So, what’s ekphrasis? A derivative of Greek, “ekphrasis” means “description.” Ekphrastic writing is creative writing inspired by the visual arts. My fellow writers and I responded to the mysterious painting Dances by Arch Hades, featured at the top of this post. An Offering revisits an experience I had as a toddler and never knew how to put into words. This summer, I finally realized that fiction is the best form for this long-ago, baffling encounter.

I am wading through the contributions of the other authors, gratified to have my work aside theirs. Each of these stories or poems could be a quick read before bed or material for doctors’ office waiting rooms. Happy reading and happy creating!

Embody

December 16, 2023 By Allison

Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu was on this morning’s agenda, but a strained wrist is keeping me cozy at home. I am bummed to miss class and wonder which techniques I’d have practiced—takedowns, choke holds, hooks? But my tender wrist is telling me exactly what I need to do today: rest.

In the last few years, rigorous exercise has taken me out of my mind and placed me squarely in my body. While the language of ideas has always come naturally to me, the language of sports has not. I am a timid athlete. In elementary school, I was too polite to fight for the basketball. As a young tennis player, I had fun learning forehand and backhand but felt overwhelmed by the prospect of lobbing the ball. I grew into a scholar and participated primarily in gentle activities such as hiking, yoga, and brisk walks. Even now, I am competitive with myself but never with others.

I am not drawn to team sports, but strenuous exercise has done wonders for me. Thanks to regular weight training, I’m calmer and steadier in my movements. I am coordinated, strong, and light on my feet. I have learned to listen closely to my body’s messages, and it inevitably tells me what I need to know. Sleep a little more. Blow off steam at the gym. Walk away from this person.

This embodied existence is new to me. Intense exercise has taught me how to balance body and spirit. I have not abandoned a life of the mind, but I am now less likely to get locked in ideas and lost in intellectual questions. I am comfortable in the weight room and seek to be part of an inclusive athletic culture at my gym and on my campus.

Though my confidence has grown in the last two years, I remain intimidated by Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. As I knot my white belt and get ready to step on the mat, I acknowledge a nervous tummy. I feel out of my element. Drills are invigorating and practicing new techniques is stimulating, but putting the pieces together and grappling with classmates overwhelms me. When it becomes too much, I back away and learn through watching rather than doing. I am still dabbling, curious though not quite ready to let myself go in the calculated movements of the martial art. I want to embody the grace of Jiu-Jitsu. When the time is right, my anxiety will melt away, uniting body and spirit.

Inspirations

Feeling Safe in My Body

Luxurious Boredom

Lying About Your Age

August 7, 2023 By Allison

I’ve dated a few men who lied about their age, which makes for a curious and unsteady start to a relationship. We meet on an app. His profile says that he’s in his 40s, and he looks a little rough around the edges, but I tell myself that life takes a toll. Maybe he is in his 40s, like he claims. When we meet, he not only looks like he is well into his 50s, but he acts like an older man. He’s calmer than my peers. He’s more poised, and he seems to be moving toward retirement—selling his business, purchasing a condo on Hilton Head, helping his adult children get settled in their careers. I think to myself, “Has he shaved 6 years off his age? 8 years? 10 years?”

I enjoy dating older men. They often offer me time, experience, and perspective that a man my age can’t. Some of my most enriching romantic relationships were with men significantly older—all of whom were forthright about their age. Of course, fibbing about one’s age is a way to manipulate the Bumble algorithm and meet younger women, but it quickly becomes problematic. Age matters little to me, but truthfulness is paramount. So, when I wind up on a first date where I suspect a white lie or two, I feel insecure. It’s as if I am on shifting ground, wondering what untruths might emerge down the road. If he’s willing to lie to me about his age, might he deceive me in other ways as well?

Straight up lies—even small ones—trouble me. Withholding truth also creates unease and stilted interactions. More than once, I have found myself in a relationship where I suspect that the guy I am involved with is keeping something in the shadows. Communication is murky and clipped because he’s holding back and I am unable to pinpoint the issue. My anxiety rises in proportion to his annoyance. I feel unsafe, and the relationship eventually implodes. Inevitably, I learn that my boyfriend had been hiding essential information from me, though not technically lying. The mechanism is different, but the effects are nonetheless detrimental.

Regardless of one’s gender, it takes courage to meet a stranger for a drink. Every time I do it, I give myself a pat on the back. And as I inch up in age, I doubt myself less. When I’m on a date and sense dishonesty, I pause. Sometimes I know instantly that there will not be a next date. Other times, I proceed with awareness. Dating can be rough. I aim to extend grace, and I am open to knowing his truth.

Grace Note

May 7, 2023 By Allison

About a year ago, I heard the term “grace note” for the first time, and I was enchanted. My homespun definition of grace note sprouted up immediately: an after-the-fact recognition or insight that brings peace. Looking back and understanding that being denied a certain job or that suffering a breakup was in your best interest because your career subsequently took an interesting turn or a better partner came your way. Seeing that a house you bid on and lost was a blessing because you eventually bought a house that is lighter, brighter, and prettier.

I soon learned that grace note is actually a musical term—a musical note added as an embellishment. My quaint understanding of grace note is not accurate, but it’s not all wrong either. Life’s narrative contains all sorts of markings that denote joy, loss, accomplishment, or grief. Grace notes dot our lives, shining light on once-perplexing events. These markings of clarity are gifts.

Of course, I know that some trying experiences remain opaque and incomprehensible. This is the nature of life and makes grace notes all the more cherished. Time is a remedy, but it does not always bring understanding. Odilon Redon’s Cinq papillons (Five Butterflies) evokes the flitting, unexpected beauty brought on by grace notes. Some of Redon’s strokes seem partial or unfinished, reminding me of life’s rough-hewn endings. These creatures are bold yet wavering. And so are we. As we grieve, forgive, and move forward with purpose, touches of grace grant lightness and serenity.

Light

January 5, 2023 By Allison

Balance, beauty, Viriditas, movement

In different seasons of my life, these words have been my aspirational guide posts. At the end of each year a word emerges, announcing a sort of theme for the coming year. I never feel that I choose the word. It inevitably comes to me in a flash and frames my thinking for months to come. For a year or more, the word accompanies and instructs me.

This year my word is light. I can’t guess where it will take me, but I do know where the journey begins. I’m moving into 2023 by tending to my inner light. I have long been aware of the brightness each of us possesses. As a little girl, I would have called it the Holy Spirit, and as a student of reiki, the great bright light. Some call it the soul. Mark Nepo references “the song from within ignited, again and again, that keeps the world going.” Bringing awareness to our inner light brings insight. Yet, I often fail to heed the clear wisdom I already possess. So, I begin the year by examining the hues of my own splendor.

Of course, this expansive and mutable force is not meant to be contained. Our inner selves inevitably move outward, unfolding beyond comprehension as our light connects us to others. In fact, I’ve come to understand that rays of my inner light emerge in this blog. As I compose my 100th post on Creative Sanctuary, it’s fun to take stock of 5 years of writing. The pieces I consider to be my best don’t always receive the most hits, but they still ring true to me. After the fire in Notre Dame de Paris, I wrote about the divine feminine. A few years ago, I wrote about yin energy as I moved into a hectic holiday season. And more recently, I published a piece on burnout versus exhaustion. The gentle play between the inner and outer takes form, and the self shimmers.

Inspiration

The Book of Awakenings, by Mark Nepo

Purple COVID Thumb

August 14, 2022 By Allison

“The body is a document. It keeps a memory of its own. We are made of loops and loops of time.” –Ingrid Rojas Contreras

COVID hit me like a summer cold, but long COVID has been no walk in the park. I was spared excessive fatigue and loss of taste, but the virus nonetheless did a number on my nervous system. I’ve always been emotionally expressive, but in the weeks following COVID, I was exceptionally fragile. Happily, my emotions are slowly stabilizing and the steady progress feels sustainable.

My purple thumb is a wild, disconcerting reminder that my body is still out of whack. The bruises first appeared on day 6 of COVID. They come and go. My thumb feels tight and slightly constricted, and my arm aches when it flares up. After a few days, it fades and then unexpectedly reappears.

My doctor suspects that my condition was brought on by the disturbance the coronavirus caused in my sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. He told me that this elegant, well-designed system regulates the autonomous processes of the body, including the fight or flight response during a threat or perceived danger. If the body is under attack from a virus, physical trauma, or emotional upheaval, that regulatory part of the brain is affected.

My doctor is perplexed but not worried. I have no definitive diagnosis, but we believe that the trauma of COVID likely sent my fight or flight response into overdrive. Long COVID is uncharted territory, and symptoms vary from patient to patient. A few weeks ago, I opted to receive a nerve block to pause my fight or flight response. The simple procedure was soothing and settling. I consider the injection a useful tool but not a cure. My nervous system will come back into balance over time, and I must give myself the time and space needed to heal.

I feel validated by the medical community and remain open to more injections and/or talk therapy as I recover. As always, my friends and family hold me up. And I’ve chosen to treat the purple thumb adventure as an opportunity to deepen my knowledge of healing. When my purple-hued thumb sends me looping through my mind and has me pacing my house, I am reminded that healing rarely proceeds in a straight line. I try to pause and practice deep breathing as a way to soothe my nervous system. More than ever, I pay attention to emotional triggers and my reactions to them. How can I step back and recalibrate? What helps me keep my emotions in check? Moving forward, how will our society deal with long COVID? Given that health is a personal, private subject, how can we facilitate healing for others?

I hemmed and hawed before writing about my COVID thumb because the condition frightened me. I keep it bandaged so that I don’t catch glimpses of the bluish-purple splotch. As much as possible, I set it aside and focus on the more pleasant aspects of my life. So why did I choose to post this story? Writing has the power to restore wholeness. Sharing does too.

Fallow

May 13, 2022 By Allison

Fallow times are productive times. I’ve spent the last few months lazing around intellectually. Given that I was coming down from a handful of writing deadlines and processing a few emotional hardships, it was appropriate to settle into a protective and hollow mental space. I admit that I haven’t been reading a lot. I haven’t even been thinking very much. I’ve been curled up, so to speak, allowing my mind to rest so that my creative spirit will reset and regenerate.

Stepping away from an active mindset is easier said than done. Even when I seek a change of pace, it takes me days to settle into a state in which my mind doesn’t churn. Fallowness gives way to sensations of boredom, and boredom makes me feel guilty. When I notice feelings of shame coming on, I swat them away. I remind myself that boredom declutters my mind and makes space for intellectual freshness. It creates an environment in which streams of thought might flow and original ideas might form. Our bodies are similar to fields that benefit from periods of inactivity. We emerge rejuvenated and bring our new energy to our work and our relationships. Not only are we better thanks to fallow periods, but people around us also benefit from the inactive time we’ve given to ourselves.

After a few months that have felt empty and blank, I sense a shift in myself. Ideas are percolating. Each day I sit down to write, and energy rushes into my palms and then my fingers. I am mostly writing fluff, but I’m writing. Though my curiosity and focus are returning, I’m not charging forward just yet. This selfish, fallow period has been restorative. I’ve been kind to myself. I’ve allowed my mind to wander. The starkness has brought new perspectives and opened my heart. Surprising, unexpected creative paths have emerged, and I tentatively begin to pursue them.

Going to the Movie

January 17, 2022 By Allison

Today’s guest contributor is my 7 year-old niece Sylvie Rose. An aspiring writer, Sylvie likes soccer, Roblox, and fake nails.

One day I got to go to a cool movie with my parents. The movie was about a good tennis player named Serena. I like that she did really cool matches and won trophies. She made me think it was me!!!

Disenfranchised Grief: Ways to Deal and Heal

December 31, 2021 By Allison

Each of us has built a collection of seemingly small losses in the last few years—cancelled trips, lost time with family, missed events like graduations and weddings. The accumulation of these disappointments weighs heavy and cultivates disenfranchised grief. This type of grief is difficult to identify, and a lot of us feel guilty honoring it. When others have suffered more, what right do we have to mourn our more minor losses?

I believe it is essential to acknowledge disenfranchised grief, to speak it to someone with whom we feel safe, and then to find alternative ways to enact small joys. I’ve recently felt a diffused, latent grumpiness. I didn’t understand why my temper was short, and I didn’t know why I was feeling emotional. When I paused and went within, I realized that my quiet little griefs had brought on a palpable mood shift. The second I acknowledged my disenfranchised grief, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease a bit. It’s okay to feel sad for the lost moments with loved ones and the vacations that never happened. As I let my grief evolve, I distract myself in lighthearted ways. The feelings of disappointment will diminish, and in the meantime, I counterbalance my grief with happy activities.

Memory Travel

With travel severely restricted and very stressful, I’ve mostly traveled through my past. The last two weeks, my 2015 trip to Italy’s Val d’Orcia has been on my mind. I’m reliving the early mornings on the deck, when the sun came up over the valley, the wild boars squealed, and the birds chirped. Day after day, I’ve been seeing the glorious Tuscan hills in my third eye and almost tasting the fruity olive oil we drizzled on our pasta. Rather than leave me with a sense of loss, my Italian reveries are fulfilling and hopeful.

Awaken the Senses

Throughout the pandemic, the kitchen has been my happy place. Meal preparation calls upon multiple senses. I see the bright produce I pull from the grocery shelves, touch the ingredients as I chop, smell the herbs as I rub them between my fingers, hear the vegetables sizzle in the olive oil, and taste the dish resulting from my labor. After tinkering with my winter minestrone soup, I am ready to share my recipe, found at the end of this post. Please make it your own! Dried beans are even more delicious than canned, and dried herbs can be used in a pinch. My winter minestrone will adjust to your whims, your pantry, and your senses.

Work It Out on the Mat

Sometimes the best way to deal with grief is through movement. This week, my yoga mat has been a place of respite. I admit I’m not pushing myself hard. My exercise is slow and intentional. In the weeks to come, I’ll be ready for more rigor. But for now, I just need to process loss and disappointment. I am learning that acknowledging my grief is uplifting.

Winter Minestrone

Created by aconnolly24 on December 30, 2021

Yield: 6 servings
Category: Celebrations, Dinner, Soups

Ingredients

1/4 c extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
Parmesan cheese, grated
1/4 c extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving
1 medium-large onion
2 ribs celery, diced
2 carrots, diced
3 cloves garlic, sliced or chopped
1/2 tsp. chopped rosemary
1 tsp. chopped sage
1 bay leaf
1 can diced tomatoes (14.5 oz)
1 bunch kale, stemmed, washed, and chopped
1/2 butternut squash, peeled and cut into ¼ inch cubes
4 c water
1 can cannellini or great northern beans, drained and rinsed
salt and pepper

Instructions

Warm olive oil over medium heat and sauté onion until light gold, about 8 minutes. Add celery and carrots to pot with 2 tsp salt, and cook to a rich golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Add kale, garlic, rosemary, bay leaf, and sage. Cook over med-low heat for about 5 minutes, taking care to keep the garlic and herbs from burning. Add water and tomatoes, turn up heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Add squash and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Then, add the beans and cook until heated through. Remove the bay leaf. If soup is too thick, thin with hot water. Serve in bowls, garnishing each with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and one spoonful grated Parmesan cheese. Variation: For a thicker soup, use two cans of beans.
Warm olive oil over medium heat and sauté onion until light gold, about 8 minutes. Add celery and carrots to pot with 2 tsp salt, and cook to a rich golden brown, about 8-10 minutes. Add kale, garlic, rosemary, bay leaf, and sage. Cook over med-low heat for about 5 minutes, taking care to keep the garlic and herbs from burning. Add water and tomatoes, turn up heat, and simmer for 15 minutes. Add squash and cook until tender, about 15 minutes. Then, add the beans and cook until heated through. Remove the bay leaf. If soup is too thick, thin with hot water. Serve in bowls, garnishing each with a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and one spoonful grated Parmesan cheese. Variation: For a thicker soup, use two cans of beans.

Inspirations

New York Times on disenfranchised grief

Slow Looking

Beauty in Grief