On being ... helpful?

By Ingrid Sapona 

A few years ago, someone gave me a beautiful orchid for my birthday. Since then, it has bloomed a few times and each time it was a beautiful as when I received it. I have a particularly sunny living room, which seems to keep plants pretty happy.

It’s been over a year since it bloomed, however. On the plus side, there have been many new leaves and it’s sprouted lots of roots. (Some orchids grow on the side of trees – the term is epiphyte – so I wasn’t alarmed when the roots started growing outside the orchid’s pot.) Because the roots take up a lot of space around the plant, for awhile I had it in a corner. This caused the leaves to bend backward as they tried to get a bit more sun. 

So, in February I moved it to a sunnier spot and the leaves have started to straighten out. But even so, the plant lists heavily to one side and clearly has outgrown its pot. Unfortunately, in winter (in Toronto) there’s no orchid soil to be found. There were no orchid pots either (they need slits or holes for drainage and to ensure air gets to the roots). I figured I’d have to wait until garden centres reopen. Then, last week I found some orchid potting soil in the floral section of the supermarket. Yeah! 

Though I still didn’t have a new pot for it, the other day I went looking for a YouTube video about repotting orchids. I don’t know if you’ve ever searched YouTube for “how-to” videos but I have and every time I am astounded by how many there are. In the past I’ve looked for videos regarding leaking toilets, strange noises from inside walls, how to install an e-sim, and how to open a jammed computer disc drive. 

For things like issues with a toilet or faucet, I usually zero in on videos from sources I know and trust – like PBS’ This Old House. Mind you, I’m usually not watching them because I plan to do the fix myself – it’s more to get a sense of who I might need to hire to address the problem. (A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker? No – I need a plumber.) But for other topics – like orchid re-potting, choosing what video(s) to watch is trickier: who knows whether the person making the video knows what they’re talking about. In those situations, I figure you have to watch a few to even get a sense of whether their advice is worth anything. 

Another factor determining what YouTubes I watch is the length of the video. In the case of the orchid repotting, I kind of thought 10-12 minutes would cover it. Well, I ended up watching two that were about 20 minutes each. Quite by accident, the first one I watched featured a woman re-potting a plant that was like mine, with roots growing over the top of the pot. I found that video encouraging, though some steps – like sterilizing your shears before you start – did give me pause. 

The second video was by someone who sold orchid-growing supplies, but it wasn’t all about flogging products. It was, however, very detailed about orchid care, including brewing a tea and garlic concoction for pest control and a making banana-based mixture to use to water the re-potted plant. By the end of that video, I started having second thoughts. There seemed an awful lot to it. Maybe I should just be happy with the memory of the orchid’s beautiful blooms and ditch the poor plant. But, I’ve always had an aversion to tossing a plant that’s still alive. 

So, I scrounged a plastic pot and I cut slits into it, figuring I may as well try. I wouldn’t be making any of the concoctions the second video mentioned, but I did a few things he did. For example, I looked for root rot. When I didn’t find any, I decided I’d to continue, doing my best to follow the first video’s steps. So, I sprayed my scissors (and the new pot) with some hydrogen peroxide because a) I had some, and b) I figured I may as well try not to introduce any fungus in the process. 

Things were proceeding well until I opened my bag of soil and found it wasn’t all bark, which is what both videos called for. I guess the grocery store isn’t the best place for orchid soil. Ugh. I decided to make do, mixing the bark from the initial potting with the new soil. It’s only been a few days but so far, the orchid is still alive.

This whole thing got me thinking about how ubiquitous YouTube self-help videos have become. I know that some folks make money making such videos (social influencers or folks with products or services to sell) but there are far more folks who put them out with no expectation of remuneration. I don’t know, maybe it’s their few minutes of fame, or them wanting to share their do-it-yourself enthusiasm. Who knows… 

And of course, there’s the question of why there’s an audience for them. In my case, for example, I’ve re-potted plenty of plants before, so why did I go looking for such videos? Maybe I was feeling insecure or maybe they were a delaying tactic, or maybe it’s a bit of both. Did I find them helpful? Well, sort of – but if I’d have watch many more, I think I’d probably have decided it’s too fussy or that orchids are too exotic and I might have just given up the idea of keeping the plant. 

What about you? Do you ever watch how-two videos? Have you found them helpful? Have they encouraged you to try something, or have they ever turned you off from a project? Have you ever made one? Could you ever see yourself making one?? 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... a time of change

 By Ingrid Sapona 

I aim for a title I hope gets readers thinking about what the column might be about before they read it. I wonder what came to your mind when you saw today’s title? 

Based on recent my conversations, it’s clear that we’re living through a time of significant change. Indeed, the topic was even mentioned in an e-newsletter I got from an organization I follow professionally. They were introducing a new method they’ve developed and, in explaining their rationale for it, they said, ‘during a time of change, what hasn’t changed is our members’ ambition’. Of course, they were referring to political change, which I’m often overwhelmed by these days. Given this feeling, I thought it might be helpful focus on a change that makes me happy: the change from winter to spring. 

I was talking to a friend about the weather last week. Though it was still unseasonably cool, we agreed about having seen the last of the snow, so spring is nigh. My friend added, however, that in her books it’s not spring until she sees her first red-breasted robin. (I didn’t tell her that I had already seen a few.) 

That got me thinking about the different markers of spring. For my mother, it was the bright yellow blooms of forsythia. We had a little forsythia bush at the corner of our house and every year, as soon as buds appeared on it, she’d snip off some branches and put them in a little vase. Then, as more and more yellow blooms appeared, her smile grew. And, if we were out somewhere and happened to see a bush in bloom, she pointed it out and commented about how beautiful it was. 

Growing up, I never really saw the beauty she saw in forsythia. Then, one year in my 20s, I happened to be in Stuttgart, her home town, in spring. There they use forsythia as hedges. So, in spring, around every bend in the road you’re greeted with a wall of yellow. It’s quite spectacular. After that, I understood why Mom looked forward to forsythia – it reminded her of spring in Stuttgart.

There are a number of things that signify spring to me. The very first thing I notice is the sound of birds chirping. I often open my balcony doors early in the morning and come March, it’s hard not to notice the nonstop chirping. I don’t know if the birds are scoping out mates, or revitalizing their nests, or just catching up after a long winter – but it’s really delightful to hear. And, as the birds swing into full throat, earthworms and snails begin shimmying across sidewalks. Dewy mornings always require a bit of extra care to avoid unwanted crunching under foot.

As for what I look forward to most in spring, the answer is simple: daffodils. Here, the first flowers to peak out are things like crocuses, snowdrops, and violets. It doesn’t seem to take much warmth for them to poke their little heads out – just a few frost-free days in a row. But those little guys are unreliable bellwethers because it’s not at all unusual to have snow after they’ve already popped. Daffs, on the other hand, hold back a bit before they show off. I love seeing their closed little arrowhead-like bundle shoot up. Then, when the time is right, they give a little graceful downward nod and open up, showing off their delicate, ruffly face. 

For some, spring has officially arrived when different flowering trees are in bloom. Here in Toronto, we have an abundance of cherry trees in High Park and a few other places. Torontonians keen for a selfie among the blossoms await updates regarding when they are expected to peak. (Mind you, I think such reports from the parks department are as much about crowd control as they are about celebrating the arrival of the blossoms.) I suppose if you grew up where magnolias or dogwoods thrive, those are spring shows you look forward to. 

For others, spring begins with certain rituals, like launching boats. The chores leading up to the physical launch – boat washing, waxing, bottom painting, etc. – don’t necessarily mean spring because most years it seems you’re doing them in winter coats. But once the boat is in the water – hello spring (and hurry up summer)! Opening up the cottage is another very Canadian sign of spring. I’ve not experienced it first hand but from what I hear, it involves a lot of schlepping and cleaning, but usually ends with a cookout and beer. Another sign of spring around here is pothole repair. Though the end result is welcome, random lane closures to facilitate it are not so pleasing. 

Given all the changes happening in the world, it may see silly to talk about getting joy from the emergence of spring. But, focusing on positive changes – even anodyne ones – helps me cope with the notion of change. I hope the changes spring brings to your life are all welcome. 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... unhappy consequences

By Ingrid Sapona 

I thought I’d start with some facts: 

I have very hard water. 

My living room is south-west facing so I get sun all afternoon. 

I vacuum pretty much every other day because I shed a lot. 

Dusting is my least favourite chore. 

Years ago, I asked a woodworker what to use when I dust a piece of furniture I bought from him and he said just a damp (not dripping) cloth. Though I grew up in a Pledge^® household, I figured he knew best, so that’s how I’ve been dusting since. 

I had some renovations done last fall. They were completed in mid-November. After the contractor left, I did a thorough clean of the place. 

Tariffs are a beautiful thing. (Haha… Just checking to see if you’re still with me. Or did you read the title of this column and think maybe that’s what I’m writing about? Well, I’m not. Or am I??? Anyway…) 

When it’s very dry I get shocks when I touch light switches and my hair stands on end when I take off a sweater. So, from late November to about the end of March I run a humidifier. The static magically disappears and my dry eyes and mouth are even a bit better. 

I bought a new humidifier last October because plastic bits on my old one were crumbling away. I liked my old one but every week I had to chip away at the calcium on the heating element. The amount of calcium build up was kind of unreal – proof of my hard water. 

The new humidifier lets me set the exact humidity I want. Unlike my old humidifier, the new one doesn’t give off warm steam – the vapour it produces is cool. So, no condensation on the bedroom windows. 

Before leaving for vacation in January, I turned the humidifier off and cleaned it well. I started it up as soon as I returned in February. 

One day in late February I retrieved something from the filing cabinet in the den. When my knee brushed against the cabinet, I noticed how dusty it was. I also noticed that the dust looked like fine, white, drywall dust. I silently chided myself for clearly not being that thorough in my cleaning after the renovation and then I got a damp cloth. This time I very carefully dusted between each cabinet handle and around the front, sides, and top.  

A couple days later I was sitting in my living room on a lovely sunny afternoon when I noticed an area on the floor round my t.v. that was VERY dusty. Yes, one of the consequences of having a lovely sunny room is that the sunshine highlights errant dust and hair. 

On closer inspection of the dust by the t.v. I noticed that it didn’t seem like regular dust. Ugh… another “spot” I missed cleaning after the reno. (I made a note to myself: Dust on sunny days so you can see all such spots.) After wiping the floor, I took a close-up look at the cocktail table. It too was covered in fine dust. What the heck? I knew I had dusted that dozens of times since the reno. 

I then went back into the den and looked at the filing cabinet again. Jeez, it was as dusty as it was two days earlier. Then I remembered a comment a friend who lives in my building said a year ago about fine white dust she has everywhere. She thought it was coming through her heating/AC unit. At that time, I told her my dust seemed like regular dust. Well, this new stuff must be what she was talking about. 

The following weeks I noticed a fine white coating on everything. Think I’m exaggerating? Here’s a photo of the inside of the cabinet under my kitchen sink. The inside! (Toward the left you can see the squiggle I made through the dust it with my finger.)

I started to wonder whether I should be concerned with what’s causing this different dust. Fairly quickly Google let me know that such dust isn’t unusual if you’re running an ultrasonic humidifier and you have hard water. Though I didn’t know it at the time, turns out my new humidifier is ultrasonic. 

Still finding it hard to believe the humidifier was the cause, I asked on the condo Facebook group whether anyone else had any fine, white dust. Half dozen folks quickly responded that they get it every fall as soon as they turn on their humidifier. A few of them even mentioned it’s because of our hard water. 

I’ve since learned of a few things that may help reduce the dust. Using filtered water – or better still – distilled water (a WAY too expensive solution, BTW). Decreasing the humidity level might also help. And there are demineralization cartridges I can add to the humidifier water tank. I bought a package of the cartridges and I’ll dial back the humidity level next year. We’ll see if they help. 

Because it was already late-March, I shut down the humidifier for the season. Then I cleaned the house. Thoroughly. 

I know that static, powdery white dust, and hard water are pretty minor problems. But still, the way various seemingly unrelated facts came together was a real-life (at home) example of something we often lose sight of (at our peril): solutions often come with trade-offs you don’t expect, much less like. 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... desensitized

 By Ingrid Sapona 

The newspapers are full of articles and commentary about all the things going on in the U.S. that are so troubling. As a result, I’ve felt there’s little point in writing about any of it. After all, what could I possibly say that hasn’t been said? But for the past couple weeks one particular story – the deportation of 238 Venezuelans to El Salvador – has troubled me in a way that few commentators have focused on. As a result, I’ve been trying to come to terms with what it is about it that’s bothering me so. 

Briefly, the background. On March 15, 2025 the U.S. deported a bunch of people to El Salvador. The deportation was facilitated through an agreement under which the U.S. government is paying $6 million to El Salvador to take deportees. Much of the news related to this incident has focused on the terms of an order issued by a Federal District Court Judge that called for the U.S. to return the planes that had the deportees on them. Though that part of the story is important and has implications about obeying the rule of law, that’s not what I am writing about. Nor am I focused on the nature of the justifications and legal arguments the government has put forth to justify these deportations, though those issues are important (and troubling) in terms of constitutional questions around the right to due process. Those issues have received attention and hopefully will continue to be in the news. 

What I can’t get past about that episode is the lack of outrage expressed about the treatment of the people once deported. Shortly after the news broke, the El Salvadoran government released a video that was picked up by most news organization. And, according to a New York Times article, within three days it was viewed almost 39 million times on social media.  I found the treatment of the people in the video very disturbing. 

The video shows nameless, faceless, shackled detainees frog marched off the planes and onto buses (and ultimately into a “terrorist confinement center”) by jack booted, balaclava-wearing officials – likely police, military, or prison guards. (I’ll refer to them here as guards.) Two guards per detainee are seen grabbing the arms and necks of the unarmed detainees, forcing them to walk/run in a crouched position toward the holding cell. The show of force was overwhelming. 

As I watched the video I was struck by the appearance of the guards as they were handling the detainees. They were wearing helmets with headphones, arm and shin guards, and Kevlar-looking vests. They were flanked on both sides by lines of guards standing shoulder-to-shoulder in black riot gear, complete with shields and batons. The detainees, whose heads had been shaven, were shackled at the wrist and ankles. Though they looked like it, the guards were not characters out of a Star Wars movie. This was not some cosplay convention. The detainees were real people who the U.S. picked up and sent to this notorious place. (The El Salvadoran government released a video in 2023 showing off of this detention centre and the hard-line treatment of those held there.)

As it happens, the day before I first saw the video from El Salvador I watched the 2023 film Lee, a biopic about photojournalist Lee Miller, an American WWII photographer. Her black and white images of the Nazi atrocities at Buchenwald and Dachau shocked people and drove home to the world what had happened. The movie is a reminder of the power of the visual – something the El Salvadoran government clearly appreciated when it released the propaganda video of the detainees. 

So, I figured surely in a day or two – as more folks saw the video of the deportees, there would be a hue and cry of people expressing shock and outrage. But very little has been said about it the treatment – or fate – of these people. (Well, the president of El Salvador has said that the deportees “would be held for a least a year and made to perform labor and attend workshops under a program called “Zero Idleness.”  That phrase has an interesting ring to it, doesn’t it? Maybe that’s the inscription over the doorway of the prison.) Imagine how these people were – and are – treated when the cameras are not rolling. Does no one think that could be me or my child or friend who was picked up and sent to some faraway gulag? 

I can’t understand it why this story hasn’t sparked outrage and protest. I get that there’s so much going on that people are feeling overwhelmed and that it feels like there’s an inevitability to much of it. But we must guard against becoming desensitized to violence and mistreatment of people and we must speak out against such treatment. Seems to me that failure to speak up makes one complicit in such actions and – ultimately – puts us all at risk. 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

On being ... an interest rekindled

By Ingrid Sapona 

The first 25 years of my life were consumed with formal education. Over the years since then, I’ve taken a few “continuing education” courses. They were offered by local colleges and universities but were mainly aimed at people who just had an interest in a particular field. The continuing ed courses were formal, classroom-based instruction with homework, though it was basically just to give students feedback. 

At some point, however, I kind of lost interest in continuing ed courses. Though I sometimes check to see what’s being offered, I always seem to find a reason not to sign up. For example, there have been courses I was interested in, but they had a prerequisite that I wasn’t interested in taking. Sometimes I vetoed courses because the fee seemed high, considering my interest was more curiosity than the desire to drink deep of the fountain of knowledge (apologies to Mr. Pope). And if I’m being honest, the idea of committing to showing up in a classroom for weeks on end is generally unappealing to me. 

A half-dozen years ago someone from my sail club mentioned an organization that offered “university-level lecture series” aimed at seniors seeking intellectual stimulation. Though I looked into it then, I wasn’t interested in attending the lectures at a nearby senior centre. 

During Covid, in person lectures had to stop, but the organization moved them to Zoom. That appealed to me. When they offered a series on music in movies, I figured I’d give them a try. I won’t bore you with the details, but the long and the short of it was I didn’t enjoy the course at all. In fairness, I hadn’t paid that close attention to the description. I didn’t realize the focus was pre-1970 films, so no music by John Williams or Hans Zimmer or any other composer I knew. The instructor was knowledgeable and enthusiastic but … well, my mistake. 

After Covid restrictions were lifted, the organization continued offering courses via Zoom. Given my earlier disappointment, I paid more attention to the titles and descriptions. For a long while, none of the topics appealed to. Then, last year one title caught my eye – Espionage: The Second Oldest Profession. A sucker for clever titles, I registered. I enjoyed the course thoroughly, but for reasons that were unexpected. We didn’t learn much about the craft of espionage, which is what I thought we’d hear about. But we did learn a lot of history. Indeed, what was most striking was how the instructor used the lens of spy craft to teach history. What a great idea! 

The next series I signed up for was about how the study of anatomy influenced medicine, religion, and art. Half way through I felt frustrated because it seemed more focused on religion than art. But even so, I had to admit I learned a lot about the Catholic religion. And, the last couple lectures did tie it all together. The instructor’s passion definitely brought the information to life in a way a textbook never could. 

Because of these experiences, I’m way more open to topics I might not have been interested in before. Sure, I still gravitate toward things I have a native interest in. But now I also consider whether a lecture series might fill in particular gaps (or sometimes gaping holes) in my knowledge. As well, there are some series that intrigue me just because I wouldn’t have imagined a course could be created around that topic. For example, if you were to ask me if I’m interested in a series on Ballets Russes, the answer is no. But the lecturer has designed a course framed around the machinations of a master impresario (The Master Impresario: Sergei Diaghilev & Ballets Russes). Intriguing, don’t you think? And, because the courses are reasonably priced, even if I learn just one thing per lecture, I figure I’m ahead of the game. (In a course on famous Toronto architects, for example, I learned what fritted glass is. If nothing else, I’m sure that’ll be useful in a future crossword!) 

I’ve always believed in lifelong learning, but I had definitely lost interest in pursuing it. These lectures have rekindled my willingness to partake in structured learning. How lucky that there are organizations that present thoughtfully and creatively crafted lectures by passionate experts. All you have to do is enroll and then be open to catching some of the lecturer’s enthusiasm.   

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

On being … a lasting impression

By Ingrid Sapona 

As adults, we move in a lot of different circles – professional, social, within family groups, etc. We often cultivate a profile within certain groups. For example, in their professional life, some work at being seen for their expertise, or for being reliable, or thorough, or good at putting people together. In other settings, while we might not intentionally cultivate a reputation, we may end up with one. For example, in my family, I tend to stay in touch with folks and so I’m kind of known as the one to ask what the cousins are up to. And sometimes people remember us for the things we enjoy. For example, if someone’s invited you to dinner and you know they’re a chocoholic, choosing what to bring as a thank you is a no-brainer. 

I was reminded this past week of how we end up being thought of – and remembered – when I read the obituary of a former work colleague. Besides being saddened to learn of her death at just 73, the notice was a beautiful summary of the many different things she was known for. Her impressive professional accomplishments were mentioned, but her many passions – the things I think she thought of as defining her – took centre stage. While some of our work colleagues might have been surprised to read of her passion for pie baking, I wasn’t. I fondly remember discussions we had about whether the perfect peach pie is double crust or lattice-topped. 

Word of her passing also brought to mind a comment she made to me when we first met. It was an offhand comment that made me feel I might not fit in to the department we worked in. Given that we got along professionally and socially after that, I don’t think her intention was to make me feel wary. Indeed, I doubt she would have even remembered saying it – and yet it’s something I’d never forgotten. It’s funny the things that stick with us. 

A few days ago, I got a snail mail birthday card from an out-of-town friend. It featured a tongue-in-cheek commentary about marking birthdays – it was a hoot. In the card she wished me well and added that every day she thinks of me as she tries to master my “shoe/sock balancing routine”. I honestly had NO idea what she was talking about. Not only that, she mentioned that she still envies my “quick work of that trick”. What trick, I thought. 

We were university roommates and so I scoured my memory bank to think of what she might possibly be referring to. Absolutely nothing came to mind. The more I re-read the card, the more convinced I was that she must have been thinking of someone else. Still, it bothered me because I wondered if I was oblivious to impressions I leave or if she was just mistaken. 

Finally, I decided to email her to ask. I confessed I had no idea what she was talking about. She responded promptly. It turns out, it wasn’t some long-ago deed – it was from the last time I visited her. She explained that as I was putting on my sneakers (which I’d left near the door) I did one shoe at a time, balancing on the opposite leg as I tied the laces. 

She explained in her email: “You were like a stork balancing yourself while putting on the shoes. Kinda … Zen. I recall offering you a chair, but you were about keeping/retaining your balance while doing this daily task.” Ahhh… that makes sense. Balance has always been something I’ve worked to maintain and I imagine we talked about that as I was getting ready to leave. 

These two odd anecdotes drove home to me the idea that human interactions are rather unpredictable. Sometimes we work at honing a reputation and making an impression and then other times we say or do something that seems quite incidental to us but that leaves a lasting impression on others. Given this, I guess the best we can hope is that others will accept us for who we are.   

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

 

 

On being … out of practice

By Ingrid Sapona 

One of the things I’ve been thinking about this week is the idea that something that was second nature can be hard to get back to if you’ve been away. As I’m sure you’ll realize in short order, one of the things I’m referring to is getting back to writing this column. 

Being surprised at being out of practice came to mind the other day on a walk. During Covid, when everything – including the gym in my condo – was closed, I got in the habit of taking long walks. (Like many, I bought into the 10,000 steps idea.) I’ve continued with them and I especially like early morning walks because that means that by 9 or 9:30, I feel I’ve accomplished something for the day. 

The other morning the sky was blue, the sidewalks looked dry, and Google told me the temperature was something like 22℉. Perfect, I thought, as I hit play on the audiobook on my phone and slipped it into my jacket pocket. Heading out the door, the nip in the air made me pull my zipper up as far as it would go and tuck my gloves into my sleeves. I was engrossed in the story I was listening to but about 5 minutes into the walk I thought, “Holy … it’s cold out here”! As is my usual, I didn’t have a hat or scarf with me and my jacket, though down, was light and short. I quickly realized it was the wind that I hadn’t accounted for. Though I wasn’t that far from home, I wasn’t about to turn around. I told myself that it was probably just a wind tunnel effect and that as soon as I turned the corner, it would be better. 

The wind never died and it was a darned cold walk. When I got home, I had a cup of tea and chided myself for forgetting what winter is like. A good reminder to check the wind chill, not just the temperature! A couple days later it was snowing and I had to go out. As I was getting ready, I realized I was a bit nervous, wondering if I had forgotten how to drive in snow. I’m relieved to report that I didn’t re-live the spin-out I did during my first Buffalo blizzard when I was 17 years old! So, I think I’ve now reacquainted myself with what it takes to get through winter in a northern clime. 

As far as getting back into writing the column after a lovely holiday where the worries of the world seemed far away, I truly am at a loss. Though I do comment on world events from time-to-time, On being… it’s not meant to be about politics. And yet, I feel so preoccupied with worry and fear about what’s going on, I find there’s little else on my mind. And based on conversations with friends and acquaintances, it seems I’m not alone. 

It's also true that I can’t bring myself to write about what’s unfolding as a result of Trump’s re-election because I fear I have a more negative outlook than many. I don’t have a reserve of optimism, either deep or shallow. (Yes, there’s always the judiciary… but what happens when court orders are ignored?) To the extent any readers feel democracy will win out, all I can say is I have no deeper hope than that you – and Martin Luther King – are right about the arc of the moral universe and the way it bends. 

Hopefully in the coming few weeks I’ll return to reflecting on more personal things and I’ll be able to write a proper On being… In the meanwhile, check the wind chill before you go out, and dress appropriately. 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona

On being … that time of year

By Ingrid Sapona 

It’s that time of the year when the only thing I’m aware of is the warmth of the sun, the feel of the sand between my toes, and the taste of salt around the rim of my drink. 

I’ll be back at On being… mid-February. Until then, stay well. 

© 2025 Ingrid Sapona