Today is the eighth month anniversary of my sister's death.  Eight months may seem like a long time, but in the scheme of things, it's a blink.

I've read in lots of books, that mourning should take a year, but a timetable seems unfair to me, that my entire life with my sister should be reconciled with not having her in twelve months. No matter, I've learned in death shoulds, coulds, really don't have much weight on what is.

I went to the cemetery yesterday. Fall has taken away all the leaves, the grass is losing its color and because of cemetery rules and cleaning off the graves, there is just the temporary cross my father built.

There, on top of the hill, not another soul around, I sang a song. It came to me, out of nowhere and filled the air. It was cold and I pulled my hat a little further down around my ears. Just then I noticed the group of men down the hill, across the street at a garage, standing with their backs against the cement building staring up at me.

I looked up at that sky, told my sister how the stone we ordered, the marble one with an angel will be done soon. Getting in my car, I drove down the driveway. As I pulled on the road, for the first time since I've been going to the cemetery, the men at the garage waved.

I looked in myself in the rearview mirror with red eyes and tears streaming down my face and then I smiled.

Last week, my friend Elizabeth phoned to tell me she was anxious about an upcoming job interview. Before hanging up, I promised to pray for her right before the interview. Later in the week, I realized I had completely forgot.

Oh no, I thought. I said a prayer that things had gone well but felt I had let her down.

I once read about a woman who remembered to pray for her friends and loved ones by writing their names on index cards and taping them around the house, to the refrigerator, on the bathroom mirror, even on cereal boxes. To remember to pray at specific times, she set an alarm clock.

I'm always interested in hearing other's tips on prayer. My mother-in-law says a prayer each night when she lights the candles for dinner, a practice I've started in my own house. Another friend once told me she has a habit of praying when she sees a bird. "Sometimes, if there's a flock, I focus on one or two that seem to look right at me," she said. "Birds are the most heavenly creatures I know."

Elizabeth didn't get the job, but she did get an interview for a different job later this week. When we were on the phone, I looked out the window and a beautiful blue jay landed in our oak tree and seemed to look right in at me. I said a quick prayer and wrote the date and time of her interview on my calendar in red marker.

"I have a good feeling about this job," I told her.

Do you have a special way that you remember to pray? Please share it below.

One of my favorite gifts is a rainbow maker, a small solar powered prism that attaches to the window and twists in the sunlight casting little rainbows that twirl around my dining room.

Unfortunately, my rainbow maker stopped working about six months ago. I kept it in the window anyway, often thinking I should probably take that broken thing down.

This morning, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small rainbow cross the dining room ceiling and go over my shoulder behind my head.

"It's working," I yelled out to my husband. "The rainbow maker is working again."

"That's because of the time of year," he said. "It wasn't broken. The sun has to be hitting the solar panel just right."

As the afternoon sun streamed in, the prism spun faster casting rainbows that circled the room. In the midst of the colorful show, I thought about how people are sometimes like the rainbow maker, they need just the right conditions to shine.  And then I remembered Randy Pausch's The Last Lecture. Though this video is filled with great wisdom, he has one piece of advice that keeps coming back to me.

"If you wait long enough,” he said, “people will surprise and impress you."

I wonder how much beauty I've missed by giving up on people too soon.

View a short clip of the rainbow maker in action.

Lately, I've been doing a lot of cleaning. Not just straightening up and organizing, but moving dressers and bookcases and getting rid of the dust bunnies and odds and ends that collect in corners.

I suppose I thought a clean house would make me feel better because this time of year I always feel a little tired. It's probably the shorter days and colder weather.

This weekend after I'd finished the upstairs, I got the boys ready for our family fun time. For the past few months, each weekend my husband and I take the boys to a new local and free attraction. Last week was a nature trail. This week we decided to go to a labyrinth. I'd read that labyrinths are circular one way paths that sometimes have a spiritual effect on people and so I was very curious about what to expect. The labyrinth was only a few miles outside of town and because it was a rainy day we were the only ones there.

I sighed as we parked the car. Following the signs, we walked to the labyrinth and I thought, just get through this and then you can get home, put in a movie in for the boys and settle down with your book and a cup of tea.

But once we entered the gate and started walking the path, without having to make any decisions or do anything but stay on the course of twists and turns, I became lost in my steps and thought. There were four stations at different quadrants of the labyrinth. Each one had a plaque that focused on a specific emotion. On the first one I came to was the word Grief. I stood for a moment and a deep feeling of sadness came over me. I continued walking reliving a flood of memories of my sister and all of the loss that my family has experienced this year.

As I proceeded to the middle of the labyrinth I felt a wonderful feeling of peace as if I was being embraced in love and acceptance and I thought, Trust the path. Have faith in the path.

In the car, heading home, Solomon and Henry both squealed, "That was fun!" My husband held my hand and nodded. Solomon went on, "I wasn't scared of getting lost cause if there's a path, you can always find your way, right?"

I looked out the window at the trees and my eyes filled with tears. Who would have thought a circular path could evoke such a strong feeling of well-being and being taken care of. Looking down at my leg, I noticed a dust bunny probably from the morning and cleaning under my son's bed. Brushing it off, I laughed. I suppose now and then, my spirit needs a little dusting off, too.

When my husband and I were newlyweds and living in a new town, I read in the newspaper that a nearby church would be holding a service called the Blessing of the Animals. The article invited animal lovers to bring their pets for a special blessing in memory of St. Francis of Assisi.

It was the first Sunday of October, and my husband I held hands as we walked through the autumn leaves. Not knowing if our two cats who traveled poorly would behave, we decided to go alone. Outside the quaint stone church, a line of pets and even a few farm animals formed. Goats and sheep where hitched to makeshift posts while pet owners wrangled their dogs and cats away from one another.

Not knowing what to expect, we walked inside the dimly lit church. It was quite a sight to see pet owners beside birds in cages, cats in carriers, dogs on leashes, hamsters, gerbils, a ferret and even a goldfish in a jar perched on a little boy's lap.

As mass began, aside from a few nervous barks and growls, a peace came over the room. Light streamed into the stained glass windows and as I looked around I thought of Edward Hick's famous painting, A Peaceable Kingdom, and the passage: And the wolf will dwell with the lamb, And the leopard will lie down with the kid, And the calf and the young lion and the fatling together.

Often, when I'm having trouble getting along with someone, it's that memory I draw from. The peace of that little stone church filled with creatures, many of them commonly known as natural enemies, sitting quietly and calmly together, surrounded by love.