Hands Off

*Trigger Warning* Hands Off by Jacqueline Cioffa I am not a patient person, no I am not. I bide my time, and busy myself with stuff. I should be writing, working, playing, struggling, worrying, and I am. I’m also waiting which is never good for an over active mind. Yet here I am, hurtling forward going nowhere. Jumping ahead to anticipate the future. The past sneaks in, memories I cannot

The Highway Halfway Mark

The Highway Halfway Mark  by Jacqueline Cioffa I wonder, I do. I cannot help but wonder what’s down the road from the place I have ever truly called home. The wood and grass and nails and bolts, the wet familiar dew smells and giggling baby sounds.The joy and the sorrow. I can’t help but observe and wonder. The funny, peculiar, crooked way of seeing the world that is all my own. The structure has cracks, fissures

37 Windows ~ home & family matters

Sifting through blog posts working backwards I found this. Family memories shift and time changes but the love can never be deleted and a home not a house never erased.   37 Windows by Jacqueline Cioffa My parent’s house has 37 windows and countless memories. It’s the home my Mom grew up in. I know every nook and cranny; I’ve heard all her childhood tales. It’s the 37 windows that her father,

I am somebody’s child, you know. Jacqueline Cioffa #mentalillness  

I never cared much about looking back when I was young. I could not wait to leave this house, this town get out and experience stuff. You know the obstinate dreamer looking for bold adventure. It worked. I ran. I ran fast and far, and kept running. That’s the funny thing about developing a serious illness, you are forced to re-prioritize. Becoming insane in the middle of Manhattan did not bode well for me

One, Two Buckle My Shoe

One, Two Buckle My Shoe By Jacqueline Cioffa One, two buckle my shoe. I don’t know how other writers find their way into a story. For me, it usually goes something like this. I hear a line in my head, a word, see a visual, and then the story plays over and over, until I release it onto the page. Its cathartic, sometimes it takes me back, some days it

"Because you, more than anyone I have ever known loved being alive." L.B.H.

Lupe and I must have walked the loop at Hoopes Park a thousand times, or more. In ten-degree freezing black ice, navigating lethal dangerous walkways (and fallen more than once), on grey-cloud, weepy wet gloomy days. You name it. We’ve dredged through it. It helps, ya’ know. The walk. To free the brain from the pressure, dark and dangerous thinking. Easing up, releasing the unrelenting anxiety. When we walk past the white pristine house

I live for the mess, and it’s all in the middle.

This is my story.    Boots and a bag, sherbet sunrise, an extended furlough at the beach, the Cove, side-trip to the bayou and the self-confinement of four walls inside a nowhere home (a whole lot of love, shock and awe, bizarre happens, heartbreak, joy, birth, rebirth, gritty life stuff). Dual realities co-existing in parallel space and time. Bam we’re back to the boots and full throttle. The Vast Landscape and Georgia Pine are continuums; sagas and gatekeepers. One cannot be without

'A mother's love is everything in our #BookBubble of the week' by Jacqueline Cioffa

“They have mere minutes left, not long ago lazy days in the thousands. Oh, if she could give some of them back, maybe it would stop. The deep lines etched across her mother’s beautiful face, the crude reminder it does not.” The Vast Landscape A mother’s love is everything in our #BookBubble of the week by @makeupmodelcitihttp://t.co/ZfsmyjU3ud#IARTG#ASMSG#amreading — Bublish (@BublishMe) May 12, 2015 “I am not a mother, I only