Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.
April 2015

It feels like an eternity. We are late getting to the bus stop, and the automatic gate at the end of our drive is taking its sweet time opening, as usual. I swear, it takes at least 10 SECONDS to open. I’m tapping the steering wheel and muttering, “Come ON!”

Then, of course, trying to turn right onto the busy highway in front of our house is a nightmare. I have to wait for at least 12 CARS – a whole other minute down the tubes.

I finally peel out, gravel flying behind me, and speed towards the bus stop, watching the minutes on my car clock tick away. 8:15. My heart sinks. I pull up just as the bus is pulling away. I try to follow it, but get stopped at the red light. We’ve missed it. And, of course, I’m due at a vet appointment at the exact same time school starts.

Many days, I’m living in the gap. This isn’t a good thing. Read more…


“I went around saying for a long time that I am not one of those Christians who are heavily into forgiveness – that I’m one of the other kind. “ – Anne Lamott

Does this surprise you about me? It shouldn’t. In fact, I think most of us have a hard time with forgiveness, especially when it comes to forgiving ourselves. Read more…

April 4, 2015

We Were Rich

Written by Posted in Poetry Comments 5

We were rich.


With his feet

he drove across the country,

semi loaded for delivery.

With her hands

she sewed dresses

baked bread

roasted caramel popcorn.

We were rich.

With his hands

he built a house –

cinder block and wood paneling,

rooms for all.

With her hands

she warmed our clothes on the wood-burning stove.

I went to school smelling of wood.

And love.

We were rich.

With his hands

he harvested grain

and raised animals…

anything to feed us.

With her brain,

she made little

feel like much.

Indeed, she fed a multitude

with less than five loaves and two fish.

We were rich.

With his courage,

he removed us from all we had known

and moved us to all

we could not know.

With her heart

she cradled our fear

while she must have known her own.

We were rich.

We did not know excess, or that excess even existed.

We didn’t know new clothes; we shared and passed down.

We did not know truffles or caviar or wine,

but we knew full bellies.

We knew love.

And boundaries.

And affection.

We knew we held the universe in their hearts.

We knew they lived for us.

We were rich.