I have always felt safest underwater. My fondest memories are childhood summers spent at home with my strong, capable, joyful father sitting in a chair counting laps. He would be happy to just sit, and count well into adulthood. I knew he was there, waiting, whenever I came up for air, lingering a moment too long. Mesmerized by the summer sun, and the light patterns dancing across the blue vinyl.
There is a number, a precise hour, minute, second between the sun’s revolving door and the moon’s sparkly shine when the world grows quiet and lavender fields weep violet. Do not cry for me sir, no, no, no. You must never feel worried or woe. Do not spill your tears; I do not know my tempest time. Smile instead when you see me, a soft hello and gentle nod will
To write from a safe place, to nurture and to listen are the greatest lessons I can share. Storytelling starts with an idea, a perspective, a memory, an observation, an opinion and a healthy dose of imagination. Writing, good writing begins with the most honest, painful, sincere, sensual, scary and absurd memories. Stellar writing must start from a sacred place of truth, examining both the dark and the light. Women today
Time moves fast separating the then from the now What if I imagined a palm tree pause?There’s a place beyond the palms where the wind blows hot Where the sunshine is warm and sweetSavor the good fortuneDon’t sweat the small detailsLife is not supposed to feel only goodOr only badIt’s over in less than a minuteDon’t blink or you might miss itThe pink grains of miniscule seashells wash up on shore Sands of
I see how the majority lives. Kids dying in the streets, devastation runs amok, earth’s temperatures off-key, disaster abounds, the homeless discarded, the invisible caged, wailing migrants. I don’t want to be part of the blind percent. I’m awake with a heavy heart. Maybe I should take a happy pill, or drink the cool aid and blur the ugly vision. I will not. I refuse to sugar coat the words
Behind every face, there is a story of despair and of strength. Behind every face, there is a tear of joy, and regret. Behind every face, there are dark caverns of shame, desperately seeking out the light. To wash over the pain, to wash over the fear, and to wash away the doubt and dramedy that fill the day. Twenty-four hours does not seem like enough time to cleanse, renew,
All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. Without the clothes, the bling, the boys, all the heavy stuff. To be deliriously happy without watching the tick-tock of the clock, afraid that your time for bliss had past. It has not. You deserve to feel joy, wonder, love and laughter until your heart beat’s quiet. All I ever wanted was to see you smile wide and large, for
When they zapped my brain, I did not recognize the nurse who had been there all along. I recalled my mother’s face, worry lines and all. Too familiar. I forget sometimes with all these cells coarsing through veins, tripping up emotions that things came easier once. Life was uncomplicated, and I took it for granted. It was the little moments I shrugged off, the nothing less than important. Vital lessons