The natural, the spiritual. Surreal beyond the mind. Measuring hurts. Possibility, Grace, Glow, Continue. Seeking these pieces.
 “Through thorny ways, leads to a joyful end…”
wrote Katharina von Schlege in 1752*. Well, in the 2020s, Houston’s concrete mazes are a type of thorny way for this chick. I have not died while driving yet, but I am guessing I’m not the only one who feels like it could happen any day now. To have the privilege of getting paid for doing something I enjoy, I bite the bullet to drive into Harris County, then scurry between schools all day. Occasionally, I congratulate myself for this traffic-survival stamina. I did not get a driver’s license until I was 22, nor a car until I was 26; our first red Corolla. That was in a small Central NY city -- easy. Oh boy, when we moved to a county south of DC years later, it got real. When I ventured into DC for an event or get-together, I armed myself with a personally printed packet of Google Map directions (GPS was not reliable back then). There were wrong turns, panicked calls to my life partner, and traffic jam meltdowns. I decided not to waste those “hands-on-learning” opportunities. Instead, I collected new wisdom, such as-- A. Don’t back up without looking behind you. B. Pull into a parking lot to recalibrate. C. Audiobooks make it easier. D. Merge like you mean it. Fast forward to Texas. The first chunk of years here I got used to suburban mini-van driving. BORing. When I found the chance to branch into the specialty of teaching kids with visual impairments, I grabbed it. After some laser focus on graduate school, I accepted a job in “A Large Urban District”. Not BORing. GRITty. This job demanded upping my driving game-the hard way--Just Do It, girl. It was 2021, of course GPS was a fixture. Admittedly, I had a personal relationship with “The Blue Line” for sure. The line and I embarked on our quest to bond with Houston so we could win the “I-can-drive-the-4th-largest-US-city” game! Dear Houston....you are a bed of roses in so many ways, but your 365-day construction season, internationally experienced drivers, and ever-growing population do make for prickly pathways. Gotta take the cons with the pros, huh? At first I only had to go one place per day. Tackled that, yep. Got cocky quick. But yes, pride comes before the fall. After a couple weeks, I had to navigate to appointments across Sunnyside, South Houston, and North Houston on a daily basis. In gratitude for the new gig, I did NOT want to screw up. The Pressure was on. Sharp thoughts cut into my concentration. One steamy Tuesday, after missing 610 repeatedly, the internal dialogue persisted: “It’s too hot, my AC sucks, Will I even make my arrival time? Where is that entrance to 610 west hiding? Why is that guy going so slow? Where did that truck come from?” "Can I really do this job?" all while trying to keep my little red car icon on the supposedly smart technology blue line. I am no Saint. Just a survivor. Frustration was mounting. Then, suddenly, the secret ramp to 610 appeared! It looked like it was in one lane to the right, so I checked over my shoulder and made the lane change. Then I looked at the GPS. Oh no, my icon was veering off The Blue Line! I jerked my wheel to the left to line up again-victory was mi-- Scrrrrrape, screech, AAAAA, panic button, stop. Jolted out of satellite-GPS-land, I was back in REAL LIFE. Heart pounding, I glanced over. I had just side-swiped a worn-down station wagon with a senior citizen at the wheel, cigarette dangling from her mouth, scarf on her head. We pulled into a gas station. She stepped out of her vehicle, eyes so tired, shoulders shaking. I got out, head drooping. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you dooooo that to me” cried the woman, arms waving. As we walked to the damaged side of her vehicle, I asked, “Are YOU ok? I am so sorry, how can I help?” We looked at the scrape on her car and the dent in mine. We caught a breath. She looked me up and down, then pleaded, “Lady, WHY’d you have to DO that?” I told the truth, “It was stupid, I was obeying the blue line instead of looking around me…..Here’s my insurance card. Are you hurt?” She slowly stopped shaking, examined my face, then relented, “You know what, I can tell you really are worried about me. You didn’t mean to, but you screwed up today….why’d it have to be TODAY? Aw, forget it, I got enough going on…” “I am so sorry, I have to pay attention to the people more than the GPS. What do you need?”. “I gotta go pick up my granbaby. Just don’t look at that damn GPS anymore”. With that, she quickly got back in her car and continued on her way. To this day, I still get goosebumps remembering her grace on my stupidity, stinging her nerves on a day she had so much life going on. That dent in my Prius whispers, “Reality over Digital, Lynn, don't rely on that GPS…” Nowadays, when I drive around 610, 69, 288, 45… (you get the idea) fear stabs at me when people pass like they are playing Mario Kart or when crossing crazy-unpredictable lanes. Are we in a live game of Frogger here? I find myself auto-praying sometimes. My call to a higher power goes something like this: “AAAAhhh! Lord, please help! please no dying or hospitals today!” After the road noise fades, little joyful memories from my destinations add up: Dynamic kids, creative educators, resilient families, teamwork, and more. Guess I’ll keep risking these thorny ways. Bring it on, Houston, one day at a time. *from the hymn “Be Still My Soul” Story and photo original by Lynn Jodeit Ouellette, 2025
 Beautiful Process 3-D Collage. First try at this medium. I love how it looks in person. The process of making it was cleansing. Layers spin stunning lives:
This collage explores how people grow. The beginning of human life can feel miraculous. Then, like a tree, humans grow unique layers each year. Every person’s life tells a one-of-a-kind story with choices, pain, and joy. Death is our final scene and common ground. Researching nature, sifting through personal photographs and arranging 3-D household items to complete this piece prompted deeper understanding of the profound human experience. My lifespan has lasted 56 years so far. Like many people, negative messages and measures led to self-destructiveness and misunderstandings. But, when you peel down the layers, every person is amazing, me included. The goal is for viewers to reflect on their own bodies and stories, seeing they are a stunning part of human experience. Please savor every age: This is what I wish for people to feel across generations. Living in the USA, I saw false messages that getting to 35 was good growth, then our 40s and beyond was bad aging. This project set these messages aside and just observed, viewing balance: Like young trees, new generations are tender and take risks for a lasting future. Smooth skin, energy, and speed are signs of vulnerability and possibility. Like tall trees, mature people are protective and drop seeds for new life. Wrinkles, veins, and caution are signs of approachability and lived adventure. The community becomes complete when all ages participate fully as the cycle of life continues - a beautiful process. by Lynn Jodeit Ouellette, 7/2025 inspired by Houston Health Museum Healing Arts Program "Aging in Our Times" project.  Lynn Jodeit Ouellette, Minneapolis Bridge between Loring Park and Sculpture Garden 2025 safe lyric or poem
why fight to survive why compete so incomplete it’s all there is it’s ugly but you are beautiful you feel safe the world does not you seem scared i want to help i feel scared being in your fear unable to be the one for your escape but I want to stay not run away wait in the moat that separates tread water as long as it takes you are worth it you are real ready or not even if I die here i seek a boat, a bridge, a fire that drains the moat of hate and ire but when it seems complete reality reveals its a slippery pebble we can only tip toe on a moment then fall in and drift a part more love in heart for togetherness, still achingly far maybe after I die maybe generations away is the togetherness I crave maybe its where everyone has died where we look back after all the surviving energy is depleted and soul existence becomes our common ground finally Lynn Jodeit Ouellette ©2024 Expressed after spurts of trying to process chasm between people groups that miss out on connection due to pain that somehow shields people from one another, even if they want to build a bridge. How it felt and wanted to come out one day.
 When I graduated high school back in 1987, did I want a party? Cruise? Family trip? Oh no--I craved escape after surviving the social labyrinth of teenager-hood meets public school. I begged for a hiking trip. My Dad found something called Outward Bound. Living in Minneapolis, MN, he chose the closest one - in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area that borders Canada. Holy Shit, that area was pristine. Back then you literally could drink out of the lakes, just scoop with a metal camping mug and Voila, hydration. A rustic frontier to explore. “Thank you thank you thank you!” I told my Dad, and got to packing. I was SO excited for 2 weeks of freedom from civilization before dealing with the transition to college. Nature felt accepting and interactive, minus the social gymnastics to fit or navigate. Let’s go!!! Upon arrival, low and behold, the first thing the Outward Bound folks explained was…We would stay at base camp for team building the first few days. ‘What!? Teams!?’ I fussed inside my head. The counselors emphasized, “This is serious rugged terrain, no hospitals, no phones (remember this is 1987, cell phones did not exist), just us. We gotta be ready to rely on each other out there.” Teen me was like, “Ok, I get it, but man, new people stuff already?…here we go…” When they rounded us up that morning, here’s who appeared in our circle: a 30 year old Charlie-Sheen looking heart-throb, a 6 foot Norwegian-looking girl of 28 (rustic model material, for sure), a 6’1” 20 year old wearing thick glasses who loved hunting,a 5’2” muscular 35 year old woman with lots of camping experience, sporting sturdy hiking boots. A 45year old man, strong and skilled from being a Nurse. Then, there was 17 year old me: 110 pounds on a heavy day, 5’5”, and, despite biking, running, and cross country skiing a lot, my German/Scottish DNA did not allow muscle definition to show up. I was mighty and passionate inside, but this team would be bound together in the wild. Did they fear this “little girl” was useless? Well, turns out there was no time to overthink it, we dove into ice-breakers-on-steroids. First, we donned wet suits for kayaking. Those were so goofy to squeeze into; it definitely broke the ice. With some finagling and laughs, we paddled and even got our rigs to spin around. After lunch, we headed out for rock climbing. Here, my vertigo for heights seeped out. I whimpered, shook, and needed tips. But…NO way would I give up. They say courage is doing something despite being scared, so perhaps the team saw bravery. After the victory dance at the top, we repelled back down by letting out rope and gliding backwards. You would think this would scare me but, no, it was a blast. The next day, our pair of Pro counselors showed us our route, then treated us to: the MUD PIT HIKE! Oh, I wish everyone could do this at least once in their life. Hiking to the pit was hot and sweaty. Trudging and swimming (yes I went all the way under) in the mud felt refreshing, cool, messy, like a big cozy blanket hugging every inch of my body-Glorious. Everyone on our team got into it and looked hilarious. After all that, the group felt at ease. How can you be stressed when everyone on your team loves to dig into gritty stuff like that? The third day was backpack prep and first aid training. All morning, we rolled, tucked, inserted essentials. We packed light & tight, because we had to carry canoes and food packs too. Afternoon was first aid training. That evening, all the groups at base camp gathered for mock-emergency round-up. Counselors posed as injured parties at stations. The challenge was to see which group could pass all the scenarios first. Before “the games began”, the lead counselor hyped-up one more time: “This is your team, they will be depending on you. It’s essential you know how to react to emergencies!”. Then POW!-the drills began. Our team operated smoothly through “set a broken leg”, “treat heat stroke”, “water rescue”. Final station was “man down”. Here, the person was unconscious, not breathing. By this time, my little heart was ramped up by the hype, team bonding. My active-imagination decided, “I GOTTA SAVE HER LIFE! “Someone, go get help!” I yelled. I whispered the trained way to deal with this, to be SURE to do it right(1987 style): “One breath, three presses, one breath, 3 presses”. I put my hands on her sternum in the proper interlocking position, kneeled down efficiently, pinched her nose, tilted her head back. Check, check, check. I sealed my lips on hers. Yes, you heard me right, lips to lips, no holding back for this chick. I pushed my life-saving breath into her mouth. And Yes, she reacted as you’d expect--She jerked upright, eyes humungous- “Cough cough, WHAT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Wiping her mouth, she gasped, “This is a just a drill!” Cheeks red hot, now back in reality, I cried, “Oh no!, I am SO sorry, are you ok?” MOST embarrassing moment material, definitely…. I waited a moment that felt like an eternity. Would this crew hate me now? Think I was crazy? Kick me out? After the eternal moment…the counselor shook her head….paused and chuckled. “Well, you certainly take this seriously! Your team passes, please just remember to check the pulse first next time.” My crew laughed and gathered round. I apologized, but they assured, “It’s ok, at least we know you’ll have our backs,” Heartthrob slapped me on the back, and we moved along. Tomorrow, it was time to “hit the trail.” What a relief. My passion was seen as caring, my intensity as focus, my body as useful. And my embarrassing boundless imagination, taken in stride. Wow. This is when I knew the trip would go well. And it did. We worked hard and relaxed, were quiet and loud, together and alone. Everyone helped and needed help along the way. What a great experience before heading into college, a new frontier! Says it better: Movie-Red. Eclectic team for sure!
 Quilt made of scraps from other projects. By Joan Ouellette's LOVE Marie sat on the rickety porch, rocking forward and back “creak cra creak, creak cra creak…” in the wicker rocking chair passed down by her mother.
Ah, the memories. Her Mom had worked nights, sometimes nights AND days, to survive and raise their family of two. Marie stroked the quilt on her lap, feeling the squares, softened, just right, over time. This comforted her thighs beneath the blanket, legs now tired from raising her own child, who died from an IED explosion in Afghanistan, after comforting her husband, who died after years of Dementia. Marie thought back to making this quilt as a clever little girl. One night when she could not sleep, hearing sirens passing in this 3rd ward 2-bedroom house, she started sewing together T-shirts that her Mom was planning to recycle into rags. When her Mom saw the creative endeavor, she did not say a thing. Instead, she accepted scraps of fabric, yarn, and handed down T-shirts from her colleagues at the Medical Center, so Marie could complete it. Making this quilt kept Marie’s child self busy, and cuddling up under it kept her teen-self cozy. Later, she read stories to her son, curled up under this humble creation. And recently, she sat beside her husband at the Memory Care Center, tucked him under this quilt, and read him stories too. In her 80s, Marie got her own routine going. After supper, she set the dirty dishes aside, shuffled across the well-worn planks of the porch, rocked, and watched neighbors walk by. University of Houston students, Dads, Workers, glowing young ladies and more. She nodded and smiled at each one. Scents of sweet BBQ, fabric softener, and traffic fumes sometimes gently reached the porch. Sounds of teenagers laughing, horns honking, or music blaring sometimes tickled her ears. Over time, passersby began to pause at her welcoming smile, meander over to her steps, chat a bit, then chat a bit more… Savannah told Marie how her dear younger brother was persevering in the hospital waiting for skin graft surgery to treat burns from a car accident. The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 green squares of the quilt into a little fluffy pillow. Savannah said her brother squeezed that pillow tight to ease the pain. Jose told Marie how his wife had gotten sick while they escaped Venezuela – dangers and poverty- to forge a better life here in Houston, and how she died in his arms. The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 blue squares into a dainty pouch. Jose tucked wildflowers there and hung it beside his beloved’s photograph upon his apartment wall. Deshaun told Marie how he was proud of his grades. He had pulled all-nighters for I.T. classes and was going to graduate with a decent job soon. He was eager to earn for his 7 year old daughter, born in his teen years, living with the Mom and her family because it was the best life for his little Angel. The next day, Marie snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love, turning 2 lavender squares into a pretty purse Deshaun’s daughter held during the father-daughter dance the next weekend. Marie cherished every story she heard unfolding in her community. Each evening, when the sunset faded, she went inside, turned the porch light on, washed her dishes, praying for victories as she scrubbed. Each morning, she snipped and stitched, adding a touch of love for passersby: Trey the janitor, London the newlywed, and more. Marie’s quilt gradually dwindled away, but she did not mind. She felt part of this resilient community. She felt a part of time passing. All along, Marie knew her own story was entering it’s final chapters, so she was glad to pass along her love. On October 15, the year of her 87th birthday, she stopped appearing on the porch. Marie had to stay inside now because the stage 4 cancer, untreatable, was ready to take her body to rest. And so… she rested. Marie finally took the pain killers the doctors prescribed, to make her comfortable, (and very sleepy too). She let stories intertwine in her mind while dozing on and off. She was content reminiscing about her Mom, husband, child, and friends, and imagining the future. I’m not gonna lie, Marie did feel a little chilly without her quilt. Houston may be hot, but fall blows in cool rains with humid air that made her achy bones shiver. On Halloween, Marie heard a knock at the door. She was not able to give out treats, so she figured it would fade away, but the knock repeated, louder and louder. Then she heard familiar voices waft in: Jose called out, “Marie, Senora, are you ok?”, Savannah chimed, “Hey Ms. Marie, we gotta give you somethin’!” Deshaun’s daughter, Angel giggled, “Happy Halloween! We have a treat for YOU!”. With each voice, she got her frail frame going, rolling her walker across the floor. “Creak, cra creak. Creak, cra-creak.” Her friends listened and waited patiently. After Marie finally twisted the deadbolt, Trey eased the door open for her. Marie leaned on her walker; her neighbors emerged before her, all together, on the rickety porch. A huge wave of warmth filled Marie’s heart. A huge smile spread across her face. She welcomed them inside. Deshaun gave her his arm, then guided her back safely to her bed. London set her new baby boy beside Marie. She smelled baby powder and stroked his head peacefully. Next, the group handed her a gift bag. Marie gingerly peeked inside, tears forming in the corners of her twinkling eyes as she saw it: It was a homemade quilt of T-shirts! Angel pulled it out and Trey held it up, displaying it proudly. The squares were humble. The stitching amateur, the result, just right: Red U of H squares, Blue Venezuelan soccer squares, Grey Army squares, Purple School Logo squares, and more. Along the top stretched lacey silver ribbon from London’s wedding bouquet. Marie’s friends spread the blanket over her tired frame. They tucked her in, adding a touch of love. They begged her to let them take turns bringing over supper. Each evening, a friend brought a simple meal, then tucked and spread, spread and tucked. Marie mainly savored listening as they told her about their lives and dreams. She felt so cozy under this precious community quilt. Marie passed in her sleep early Thanksgiving week, in the little house, touched by love. In the humble ward, full of beautiful stories, still unfolding to this day. Author notes about the ending: I was told it is a tragic tale, but with joy throughout. It was suggested I add a legacy she left to the ending. You are free to imagine one. Maybe she donated the house to one of the friends and they continued being a listener to the neighbors. Maybe a quilting guild was started in her memory that meant a lot to the neighborhood. But I like the story the way it ends. I like the idea of giving of oneself being something people would notice and reciprocate. I like the idea of dying peacefully being a happy ending to a life on earth. But if you have a legacy ending to add, please email them to me. Maybe this could really just be a first chapter of a story with lots of victories in later chapters... copyright 2025, by Lynn Jodeit Ouellette
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