Reader, Thinker, Writer, Lover.

My thoughts have exploded into a million pieces and are floating flotsam above my head. I try to reach up and catch them and piece them back together, but they turn to dust on my fingertips. I let go and look up and they’ve formed back into broken bits of gravel, irritating my mind.


I arrive and sit on the mat, placed in my favorite spot where the sunlight filters through the window; and I begin to rein in my breath.


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December 8, 2015

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Prose Comments 8

Reach In: to your own heart. Reach in and wait patiently until you find the light. Reach in and meditate, levitate, wrap your arms around your humanness. Reach in and center.

 Reach Out: to a friend. Reach out to someone in need. Reach out and hug a furry creature. Reach out to your mom or your grandma. Reach out and connect with real people.


Turn Off: social media. Turn off the news. Turn off the voices around you that are negative and biting. Turn off materialism.

 Turn On: your goodness. Turn on a teapot or a stove to cook a good meal. Turn on a funny Christmas movie. Turn on your partner.


Sit Out: of arguments. Sit out of parties you don’t want to go to. Sit out of self-judgement. Sit out of the obligation to send cards or buy gifts.

 Sit In: on a sunrise or a moon set. Sit in on a good TED talk. Sit in on your family dinner. Sit in silence until your brain stops buzzing. Sit in on the inner workings of your heart.


Put Down: resentment and jealousy. Put down your credit card. Put down that rock before you throw it.

 Pick Up: the perfect pear at the supermarket. Pick up your favorite book. Pick up the laundry on your bedroom floor. Pick up an olive branch and hand it to your enemy.


 Make a good cup of coffee. Make up with someone. Make out with someone.


Sow goodness and mercy.

Reap goodness and mercy.

December 1, 2015

Hello, Stranger

Written by Posted in Blog Posts, Prose Comments 2

I see you, eyes cast down at your phone, and I patiently wait to catch your attention.

I give you an open hearted smile, inviting you to share something with me.


We’re both here, we both have a lot on our minds.

We’re both waiting in endless lines and have many more endless lines to travel.

We’re both late. And busy. And a little lost in the holiday jumble.


We bump into each other in the Christmas aisle;

I smile at you like we both understand.


We jockey for position in the Starbucks line;

I open my heart and look in your eyes, and grin my most charming grin.

I try to smile like my tail is wagging.

You smile back; haltingly at first, then fully.


I want you to be noticed for a moment.

I want you to feel like maybe I think you’re beautiful.

I want you to wonder if maybe it was worth it to put on that lipstick after all.

I want you to feel like someone’s best secret.

I want you to feel not so alone,

not so rushed,

not so invisible.


You’re not one of the masses, stranger.

You’re you.

Some moments you have silver hair and are holding a cane.

Some moments you are a teen with a faux hawk.

Some moments you are a little girl with some pretty fancy glittery tights.

Some moments you’re a middle aged mom.

And stranger, I think you’re human. And I think you’re beautiful.


I love mornings.


I begin getting excited about them the night before, while setting my coffee pot.


I love the way my feet are the first thing in the house to touch the ground. I love the cold chill that runs down my body as I leave the warmth of the comforter.


I love how I can smell the coffee wafting back to my bedroom and the deafening quiet and how my books of poetry wait dutifully by my chair.

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September 29, 2015

Written by Posted in Poetry, Prose Comments 1

Some days I look in the mirror,

and am shocked by how young I look…

because on these days, I feel the length and width and

breadth of my 42 years

in my bones.


My body no longer reacts quickly to anything.

Today I feel last place up the hill-



hips and ribs moaning in argument.

It takes a century to

make my lunch, finish my workout, walk to the car.

I marvel at everyone around me

who seems to be moving so fast.


I feel the 23 years of raising children

heaviness of

triumphs, heartaches

busyness, worries, and constant movement

in every cell and muscle.


I feel days into weeks into months into decades

of need,

of no rest for the heart.


Some days I look in the mirror and expect to see

silver, thinning hair

loose skin

sunken, rheumy eyes.

I expect to see hands shaking slightly as they reach up

to touch my lips, remembering when they were


and full

and kissable.


I expect to see winter.


And yet, staring back at me is late summer.

There is color and roundness in my body

and sparkle in my eyes.

And I wonder if this is what autumn feels like –

full to bursting, putting on a show,

but knowing it is slowly moving into rest.


And I think it must not be so bad.


If I’m not listening closely, I can miss it.

It’s deep and quiet and rumble-y…like a train you hear rolling down the tracks from miles away on a clear night or a Night Train of the Harley Davidson variety starting up a block down the street.

It originates from deep inside his belly and reverberates through his big barrel chest. It seems to bypass his throat entirely and exits through his soft muzzle, the air escaping and making his nostrils bounce almost imperceptibly. Read more…